Not Again
by chaosgenes
Summary: Dean unexpectantly loses his memory and it's up to Sam to figure out if he wants to leave him that way or go back to their failing relationship. On top of working cases, fighting angels, demons, and losing his brother, Sam doesn't expect to fall in love too. Set after Season 9x14.
1. A Not so Supernatural Accident

A/N: Hello all!

This takes place after the recent episode, Season 9x14, because frankly I'm sick and tired of the brothers' relationship going to shit. Hopefully, you guys are too. So, this is my take on what the Winchesters would do if Dean lost his memory and it's Sam who has to care for Dean. It's not sappy but it is a chance to rebuild their relationship and fall in love in the process.

There will be **SPOILERS**, mentions of previous season, so readers you have been fair warned.

Chapter 1: A Not so Supernatural Accident

Kevin is right, their whole feud is stupid and Sam knows it. How are they supposed to fix things with each other though? Did Sam even want to?

After the door to the bunker is closed, Sam hears Dean say, "Well, that was," but Sam has already turned his back for the hall towards their bedroom and doesn't hear the rest of it. He doesn't want to hear what Dean has to say; he doesn't want to attempt to mend together what's been tearing them apart, and he doesn't know if he even wants to forgive Dean.

Sam stares at his door, hesitating to open it, because this is the first time he has blatantly walked away from Dean without a word. At the same time that there is guilt, there's also frustration coursing through Sam; he pushes it aside as he enters his dark room. Closing the door, he turns on the lights, sees the bedroom that isn't his and _is_ his all at once.

There's discomfort and satisfaction when Sam takes it in. It's not the bedroom he's always wanted, but it's a Dean-less one, and Sam never usually gets what he wants anyways. Through the walls, he can hear the slam of his brother's door closing.

The next morning, they don't talk about it. Sam finds a case to make sure they don't talk about it, and Dean, thankfully, has complied. It's the usual with Sam riding shotgun and Dean cruising down the highway, both of them silent as radio tunes play.

They never make it to the next town though.

000000000000

"Are you alright?!" Sam cradles Dean's head with one hand while the other grips the man's shoulders. Sam shakes him, fear in his voice and alarm in his eyes. It's like being back in Broward County, Florida again except this time there isn't any trickster god hanging around to point the finger at.

Red and blue lights flicker and sirens wail as they approach Sam, but the young Winchester barely registers the emergency crew until they are upon him, prying him from the still body. He lets them when he realizes he can't do a thing. Cuts and dislocated shoulders he can deal with, but being pulverized by a car? Sam is no doctor. Feeling helpless, he follows them wordlessly in to their vehicle.

Not a month, or a day really, goes by without incident for the Winchester brothers. Most times they were petty arguments between Sam and their sergeant-like father. Other times it's the bottomless loneliness Sam and Dean shared during their years apart while Sam was in Stanford. In the past nine years, it was about hunting the yellow-eyed demon, dealing with Sam going dark-side, saving Dean from Hell, trying to stop the Apocalypse, getting Sam's soul back, searching for Purgatory, stopping Castiel-gone- rogue, killing the Leviathans, trying to close Hell's Gates, and now Earth has become a battleground between all the major players of Heaven and Hell.

Life is a mess and it's clear that there is no escape. Not even from each other.

Sometimes, Sam thinks that if he and Dean weren't brothers, they wouldn't have experienced all their life tragedies and more. It is like a curse, being brothers. Belonging to a family is a curse. Making friends and loving people is a curse. Bottom line though, being human at all is a curse in itself. Yet there is hope for people unlike any other supernatural creature.

Despite being the most vulnerable to pain, possession, and temptation, they are also privileged. Salt and iron are everyday tools, and pentagrams do not trap them. They cannot be summoned through magic and they cannot be burned by holy water. If anything, humans are _damned_ if not also _favourites._ After all, would God leave an Angel and Demon tablet on Earth just for kicks if not to allow people a chance against all that is at odds with them? God may have left the building, but Sam likes to hope that all is not lost.

However, what matters at the moment is not angels or demons duking it out. It's not about good and evil or even about the angel that had possessed him. No, what matters, as it always does, is Dean. Dean who he cannot trust anymore. Dean who begrudgingly agreed with Sam to not be brothers in the line of work. Dean who is in a hospital, connected to machines and wires and is as silent as a corpse. Dean who was hit by something as mundane and unsupernatural as a _car_. While he was crossing a mundane street. Back from his mundane task of giving Sam his morning coffee.

As he hunches over, elbows on his knees, looking at his brother's silent body, Sam thinks it's ridiculous. Sure they were hit by a truck before while in a car, but the driver had been possessed by a demon. Dean was hit by a drunk, a nothing but a _human_ drunk, and therefore natural at that. Yet, it is the stupidest excuse in the world to end by in their business and Sam isn't entirely sure if he's ready to let Dean go if that's the case. He doesn't want to. Not again.

For what is probably the umpteenth time, deep-rooted guilt grasps Sam by the throat and chokes him. If he hadn't decided to work with Dean again after meeting sharp-teethed Garth, maybe they wouldn't be here.

_Hell_, Sam thinks. _If we weren't, brothers—if we weren't _family_—if I hadn't been healed back to life—_

"Ugh…"

Any finality to Sam's thoughts is swept aside as the man snaps his head towards Dean. Scraping his chair back, Sam stands up in a second, bending over the medical bed to see his brother more clearly, hands at the man's shoulder in a firm grip. Honestly speaking though, Sam just wants to make sure the first thing Dean sees is his lil' bro's face when the man wakes up.

"Dean," Sam says his voice cracking. It has been hours since he last spoke with the doctor. He knows his brother broke a few bones, but what worries Sam the most is the concussion. Dean hasn't woken up in over twelve hours. "Dean? Are you alright?" Sam asks. His right hand slips from the man's shoulders to his neck until his thumb rests at the bottom of Dean's jaw. Absentmindedly, he strokes the stubble that has been growing there. They are all practiced motions from the many times Dean has landed himself unconscious in the hospital; all for the reasons of hunting and equally just as much for Sam.

Dean groans again. He frowns and blinks furiously against the light, but Sam can see his brother's eyes slowly focusing and it's easily one of the more wonderful parts of Sam's life, despite their recent rocky relationship.

"Hey, you alright man?" Sam asks again, a breath of relief escaping him. His brother is fully awake now.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm alright," Dean answers squirming in what seemed to be away from Sam.

Relieved, the younger Winchester sighs, pats the man, and smiles as his hands slides away from Dean's jaw line. He sits back in his chair rubbing his face. "Good. You were out for _hours_, Dean, and not the beauty kind of sleep either. The doctors said there might be side effects from your concussion but—"

_So far so good_, was what Sam was about to say, but he is swiftly cut short.

"Wait, who's Dean?" the man asks struggling to sit up. He winces at the effort. "And while we're at it—_ah shit_," he grumbles, rubbing his head, "—who are you?"

Sam goes rigid in his chair. He snaps his eyes to Dean to see if he was serious. "Dude, don't joke with me here." He sees his brother's pallid face though; the scrunch in the man's brows, the slightly parted lips, and Sam _knows_ before he is even given an answer.

"Is this a face of a joker?" Dean sounds almost angry. "_Who's _Dean and _who_ are _you_?"

A dozen thoughts flash through the younger Winchester's mind. He knew the possible consequences of the concussion, amnesia being one of them, but he never thought that he could hurt that hard from hearing a few simple words; whoever said that, "words will never hurt me," clearly hasn't been a Winchester. Sounding almost shell-shocked, Sam responds. "Dean's your _name_. I'm Sam. Your _brother_."

All that flashes across Dean's face though is anxiety and confusion. There's no time for further discussion because right then, Dr Nicks, whom Sam spoke with earlier, comes walking right in with a clipboard. He's a tall elderly man with greys in his hair and wrinkles carved into his skin.

"Ah, it's nice to see you awake, Mr…Floyd Nugent," Dr Nicks says after glancing at his clipboard. He stands opposite where Sam is sitting and asks Dean, who frowns at the younger man, "How're you feeling?"

"I'm sorry, what's my name?" Dean asks turning to the Doctor, and Sam feels his stomach sink just a little lower.

"Floyd Nugent," the Doctor repeats over his spectacles. "Oh dear. Looks like the concussion has done a lot more damage than I thought if you can't remember who you are. What's the last thing you can recall?"

Dean's brows knit together. "I don't know… Just waking up here I guess."

"You were in an accident, Floyd. This gentleman rode with you here to the hospital. Do you remember him?"

Sam wants to punch the doctor for even bringing up the question because he sees the look of distrust on Dean's face again. That look of unrecognition towards _him_. So, he steps in hoping to deter any more misunderstandings.

"Look, Dr Nicks, I've already been through with Floyd with who I am. Just tell me, is this going to be permanent?"

"I can't say for sure. Patients have had temporary memory loss while others have been permanent. We will keep Mr Nugent here for the time being until he is well enough to leave and see if his memory will slowly come back."

Sam hopes so, but he can't afford to stay in the hospital for any longer than necessary. Not with angels and demons looking for them and Crowley and Abbadon on the loose. "Thank you Dr Nicks."

"It's not a problem Mr Paige." Sam flinches at the name as the doctor continues, "I will be checking up on you later Mr Nugent." And just like that, he leaves without another word.

Not a moment is spared after the doctor leaves. "So…if my name is Dean, then why did Dr Nicks call me _Floyd_?" Dean asks. The suspicion is clear in his voice as he stares Sam down. "And _as if _we're brothers. We don't even have the same last name!"

"Dean, just calm down," Sam tries, fleeting thoughts from before being recalled. He can start fresh—a life with no relation to Dean—but Sam pushes it aside. His brother may not remember now but maybe he will later. In the meantime, Sam has to convince the man that he's telling the truth. "Your real name _is_ Dean and I _am_ your brother. You have to trust me on this."

"And why should I do that?"

Sam doesn't blame the scepticism in Dean's voice; if their situation is reversed, Sam wouldn't believe Dean either. It's just a part of who they are to not trust people easily.

"Because I wouldn't lie to you about being brothers! And frankly, I'm just plain tired of all the lies and secrets between us already!" Sam is downright frustrated by now. The only relationship he has managed to keep, albeit hanging by a thread, is being threatened by none other than the one who holds the other end of it. But then again, it was Sam who didn't want to be brothers anymore, not while hunting at least. However, this is different because at least Sam knows what they meant to each other then, what Dean still means to him now, and it's obviously a one-sided feeling on Sam's part. He isn't used to it.

"Then why do we have different last names? We're long lost brothers or something from different families?" Dean asks, without an ounce of hesitation. His eyes are still narrowed and Sam can only feel more frustration accumulating within him.

"They're aliases Dean. You made them up."

"Why do we need aliases?" Then Dean inhales sharply. His next words are hushed as his eyes dart around the room, landing at the open door. "Are we…criminals?"He nearly whispers.

Despite all his frustration, Sam laughs. "Try hunters, Dean."

"…Why do we need aliases for _that_?"

It was a simple question, really, but it dawns on Sam the extent and severity of Dean's amnesia. If his brother can't remember being a hunter, he won't remember much anything else. Not their mother, their father, and all the moments they saved each other—what they _are _to each other. Being a hunter is Dean's life. And begrudgingly Sam's as well. How could it be forgotten so easily?

"Shit," the younger Winchester mutters. He gets up, and closes the door to their room. He needs Castiel ASAP.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Dean asks with a certain panic to his voice.

"Shut up, Dean. I'm going to pray." And Sam does under his breath. No later than ten seconds later, Castiel appears with a subtle rush of wind right beside Dean's bed.

The wayward angel leaves no room for silence as soon as he spots the brothers. "Sam, I've been looking for you two—"

"Cas?"

At the voice, Sam turns his head sharply towards Dean, who's looking at the angel with surprise. The bewildered man asks again, "You're Cas, right?"

Castiel blinks, his jaw firm as he slightly tilts his head with uncertainty. "Of course I am. Why do you ask Dean?"

"So my name _is_ Dean."

It stings a little for Sam to watch the exchange. How could Dean recognize the angel right off the bat while he doubted Sam, his own brother? He can't help but snap, "That's what I've been trying to tell you this entire time!"

"Whoa, calm down there, Sasquatch," Dean says raising his brow, one hand up in gesture of defense. He looks at the angel. "Hey, Cas, who is this man anyways?"

"Dean…this man is your brother, Sam," Castiel answers, looking more confused than before. He turns to the younger Winchester. "Sam, what's wrong with—"

"Oh, so you believe a man who just popped out of nowhere rather than me, your own brother?" Sam interrupts as soon as he sees that Dean has taken Castiel's words to heart. He doesn't want to admit it, but Sam is feeling more hurt by the minute. He spent hours watching over Dean, waiting for him to wake up, waiting for any sign really. And this is the result? To be forgotten? While Castiel is easily remembered?

Despite the absurdity, Sam feels betrayed. Even when Dean had his memories, the lack of trust was present then as it is now only the emotional damage is more severe.

Dean is quiet for a moment, taking in Sam's words. "I don't know. I can't help it if I don't remember you. I'm sorry…Sam." The look the man sends the younger Winchester is apologetic, but Sam is relieved to even just hear his name on his brother's lips again.

"…No, don't apologize. I'm just overreacting…Cas," Sam says turning to the angel. He shouldn't be overreacting since Dean can be fixed—or at least Sam hopes the amnesia is reversible. "We can't stay here long. Can you heal him and bring back his memories?"

Castiel frowns in a way only the fallen angel could frown, with brows scrunched, lips tight in all seriousness, and still managing a look of juvenile curiosity. "I can heal the broken bones, yes, but I can't reverse the memory loss."

"Whoa, whoa—what kind of healing?!" Dean asks trying to squirm away, "Who are you, people?!"

Sam ignores the protest. "What do you mean you can't? You've erased people's memories before!"

"Memories are a fickle thing, and erasing isn't the same as bringing back, Sam. I can't retrieve what's already lost," Castiel, answers sternly. "Give it some time. Perhaps Dean's memory will naturally return. I will heal his injuries though."

"Hey, you're not touching me you—"

"Dean, he's an angel. He'll heal you in no time flat and then we can get out of here," Sam says impatiently. He slumps back in his chair, yet again helpless, watching Castiel place two fingers against Dean's forehead. Light shines at the point of contact, flooding the room for a split second as bones are heard cracking into place. After the light disappears, so does the sickly colour in Dean's face. Tan replaces it, comforting Sam in a little way.

"Wow…that was weird," Dean mutters wide-eyed. He straightens his posture though and looks at the bedside angel. "Thank you…?"

Staring down, Castiel responds with a small awkward quirk of his lips, "You're welcome, Dean."

"Huh. I always thought angels were more…angelic. And less constipated looking."

Tired of watching the two converse and just tired of being in the hospital for a lifetime, Sam stands up with a huff. "Hate to break it to you Dean, but most of them are just dicks. Now, get dressed. We need to get outta here before trouble comes and finds us."

000000000000

"Whoa!"

Sam raises his brow at his brother's outburst. Moments earlier, Castiel had brought them to their bunker through just touching them. Dean hadn't dressed in his old clothes however, blood staining his shirt and some parts of his jeans being a few of the reasons. From what Sam can see, the older man is simultaneously surprised by the teleportation and the room they are in.

"This is awesome! Where are we?" Dean asks, spinning around to face Sam with a face brighter than the few times Sam had seen since Gadriel left his body.

Amused by the sight of his barefooted and hospital gown adorned brother in such a formal setting, Sam snickers. The older man is the spitting image of vulnerable. It's not like Sam hasn't seen his brother walking around in nothing but a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers; the domesticity of it has always comforted the younger man and unsettled him at the same time, because while Dean made the bunker his home, Sam still has his doubts about it himself. He answers, "We're home," before he can stop himself though.

"We live here?" Dean exclaims appreciatively with a whistle. "This is great! It's just like the Batcave."

"There are no bats in here," Castiel states from beside Dean. Disappointment could be heard clearly in his tone of voice. "I've already checked."

"Dude," Dean laughs and claps Castiel several times on the shoulder before eyeing Sam, "are all angels as clueless as him?"

Sam shrugs, trying to ignore the tug of frustration that arises from watching Dean's casualness towards the angel, and settles in to the library chairs. Dean didn't even try touching Sam—not once since the man had even woken up.

"Cas has always been a bit special," the younger man replies calmly, "even amongst the other angels. You, on the other hand, look ridiculous in that get up." Sam gestures to all of Dean, who just grins and walks away for further exploration. For an amnesiac, Sam admits his brother is doing pretty well with all the unorthodoxy of his situation.

"Cas, can you leave us alone for a minute?" Sam asks, looking expectantly at the angel.

"Of course," and then with the sound of beating invisible wings filling the air, Castiel disappears.

Curious about the sudden need for privacy, Dean stares at Sam. Another frown graces his features as he stands awkwardly by the library table. "What is it?" he asks.

The younger Winchester exhales a breath, motions his older brother to sit, before he starts talking. He's thought about it, put the unintentional betrayal into the back of his mind, and comes to the conclusion that maybe this is his second chance—a chance to not be brothers with Dean—a chance not to screw up with each other and everyone else; all Sam has to do is draw a line between them again.

If somewhere in the middle Dean does get his memories back, then Sam will face the consequences later. Right here and now is the more important issue.

Decided, Sam leans across the table on his elbows, where Dean has settled opposite of him, and begins with all seriousness, "Look, I know I said I'm your brother but we aren't actually that close." A lie, but a necessary one. Their bond is special, unlike any other brothers and unlike any other family, but it's because it's so special that it's also destructive; Sam knows that.

Dean raises a brow and slowly nods his head. "Makes sense. Explains why I didn't recognize you when I woke up. Guess you weren't that important to me."

At that, Sam bristles and swallows his disagreement. He shoves the negative emotions away, fingers tensing from their position at halfway across the table. "That's right...we argued a lot, never saw eye to eye…" he says through clenched teeth before returning to his normal voice. "We had an unhealthy relationship," he sums up; all true too. People have often said enough that their codependency has been detrimental.

"Ok…so why are we living together? And why were you all over my face at the hospital?" Dean asks, his brows nearly touching.

Sam scoffs and feels like a child again as he retreats back from the table. "I was _so_ not all over your face."

"Uh, yes you were. Your gigantor forehead was the first thing I saw. Then your nose. Anyways, answer the damn questions!"

_Huh_, Sam had been hoping Dean saw his eyes first. He rolls his shoulders though and shrugs it off, trying not to feel self-conscious about his forehead. "I was at the hospital because despite our bad relationship, I'm not a jackass. I still care about you," Sam explains, "As for living together, it's safer under this roof. It's dangerous out there. The kind of hunting we do isn't exactly a deer and moose chase, Dean."

At that, the older Winchester gives Sam a pair of curious and sceptical eyes. "…And what exactly do we hunt?"

There is no need for the other man to know about the Yellow-Eyed demon, about their Mom or Jess, or even Bobby and Kevin, Sam thinks. Dean doesn't need any more burdens, or guilt trips, and neither does Sam, in the meantime at least; he doesn't know how long the amnesia will last.

Sam answers readily, briefly wondering if he should pull out a few books to show his brother. "Ghosts, vampires, werewolves—you name it. Even demons and angels." Which is essentially the family business, a tiny detail that Sam decides to forego.

Dean slowly nods, and then blinks hard. "Wait—even angels? What about Cas?" He asks alarmed. "He's good right?"

Sam chuckles. "Don't worry about Cas, he's on our side. I can't say that for sure for the rest of them though." And as Sam explains the fallen angels and their factions, never mind _how_ they fell, he also fills Dean in on Abbadon and Crowley and their search for the First Blade.

Watching his brother contemplate and take in their situation, he's prepared when Dean asks, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I know it's a lot to take in, but you accepted Cas pretty easy. Besides, there's no point in keeping it from you. You're gonna have to go out eventually and you're going to need to be prepared. Plus, you have the mark of Cain there," Sam points to the red-wing-like burn mark on Dean's right inner forearm, "and the only person who can use the blade, according to yourself at least, is the one who wears that mark."

"Cain, as in _Cain and Abel_?" After Sam nods, Dean stares at it pondering out loud, "How did I get it?"

Sam stiffens. Dean never told him how he got it, just that it was necessary to use the First Blade. "You didn't tell me how. We…weren't really on speaking terms." And Sam truly does want to know because Dean having the mark of the first murderer can't possibly be a good thing. Factor in the murdered was Cain's own brother and Sam gets a sick feeling in his stomach. The comparison hits too close to home for his liking.

"And now?" Dean asks.

"Now is different. You're not yourself," Sam explains leaning back in his chair and resting his hands over his lap. "So, if you have any more questions, just ask me."

"Alright, well everything just sounds downright crazy so far," Dean admits. He briefly glances around before he fixes them on Sam, his aloof expression suddenly serious, "but I only believe you and Cas because you're my brother and he's an angel and you guys are the only people I have right now. But if I find out any of this is a lie, brother or not, you're going to regret it."

For a moment, Sam's blood runs cold because the look Dean has given him is one never directed at him before. It's dangerous, void of any wonder or amusement, and even though Dean has no recollection of hunting, Sam can see the man he knows as his brother—the hunter underneath who means business.

Barely suppressing a shiver, Sam nods his head in understanding. He's only left out a few details and hasn't actually lied; if Dean calls him out on that when his memories are back, then Sam will deal with it when they get there. "I'll take your word for that, Dean."

"Good. Now where can I get some grub around here?" Dean asks, face sliding back to friendly. "I'm starving!"


	2. Rediscovering the Bunker

A/N: Took me awhile, writer's block and all, but here's the second chapter. Hopefully, it doesn't clash too much with the new episode coming out tonight.

By the way, thanks for all the reviews and the favourites so far readers! It's good to know what people think about your writing.

Chapter 2: Rediscovering the Bunker

"Hey Sam, where are all the plates?"

"What's with all the beer in the fridge, Sam?"

"Sam, how does the coffee machine work?"

"Sam, do I have a favourite cup?"

By the time Sam has his big brother settling into a chair by the kitchen table with a simple ham and cheese sandwich and a generic cup of coffee, his head is ready to explode. He cannot believe how many questions Dean has for him; so many, in fact, that he thinks Dean is completely taking advantage of his statement from earlier. Sam meant that he would answer things to do with them, their job, about hunts—not about their domestic layout.

"Bud thith ith ouwr hom," Dean says through a mouthful of food. He's still wearing his nightgown and going around bare feet.

Sitting across from his brother on their metal kitchen table, Sam exhales a weary breath. If there was one thing the younger man wishes amnesiac Dean could remember, it's definitely not the man's horrible table manners. "Dean, could you _please_ talk _after_ you're done chewing?"

Dean glances at Sam and gives a small smirk before swallowing. "Did I do this too? Back before, y'know."

"Back before the accident?" Sam repeats. He nearly rolls his eyes, but catches himself just in time. "Yeah, you did, Dean. Didn't matter where we were when it's you and food—it's you and food."

Predictably, Sam thinks, Dean shrugs his shoulder. "Well, didn't someone once say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?" He asks grinning. Then he returns to eating the sandwich with as much vigour as when he began.

Sam huffs and stands up. "Whatever, man." And moves to walk away.

"Hey, whe ye goin?" Dean asks, mouth stuffed yet again.

Despite being frustrated and despite being annoyed, Sam does feel partially glad that at least one habit has returned for Dean. It may not be the one Sam wants, but it's something and something is better than nothing. "I'm going back to the library," the younger man answers. "If you're going to explore the rest of the bunker, leave me out. You have too many questions about everything." And frankly, Sam wants a break for a while; have time to digest everything.

Dean quickly swallows his food with an audible gulp. "Wait, so you're just gonna ditch me because of my questions? What did you expect? I have amnesia!"

"I'm not _ditching_ you," the younger man says, turning around, exasperated. "We're still in the same bunker, Dean. I'm not actually going anywhere."

For a moment, Dean stares silently at Sam, as if contemplating or recalling, Sam doesn't know but it throws his stomach into a pit. He has seen that look once before many years ago. "That isn't the point," Dean mutters after a while, eyes glancing downwards. "Just—forget about it."

It's the first time that the man has looked even remotely affected by his situation, and somehow that makes Sam feel guilty because it was him that put it there. He is so used to Dean's hard-edged ways, his stubbornness to be vulnerable, that Sam nearly forgets that this Dean is not the same Dean anymore. The older man may have appeared tough when he woke up from his coma, but Dean still has every right to be afraid. He hasn't been alone once in his waking hours and Sam didn't intend to make Dean feel alone, yet, here he is suggesting to Dean to be by himself. To do without Sam; somehow that hasn't really worked well vice versa or otherwise for both of them. Dean would have no idea where to go, where to start, or even what any of it would all mean.

All of a sudden, the younger man has a taste of what it's like to be his brother when they were kids with all of Sam's never-ending questions and constant need for attention. Except Dean isn't five and Sam isn't ten. They're all adults and it's up to Sam this time to be the responsible one. He can't always expect Dean to be strong, especially not with a right mind. Besides, Sam owes it to his older brother after all they've been through.

Maybe he will do things right, and maybe he will do things better.

Feeling calmer, Sam walks back to the table where Dean has put down his sandwich. He rests his hands on the flat surface. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean it that way," he begins, voice steady. When Dean looks back at him, not believing, Sam continues. "I'm really not going anywhere, so, finish up your sandwich and I'll show you around." He sits down with his elbows resting on the table and his forearms huddled in front of him.

"Yeah, yeah, sure…" Dean nods and hollowly picks up his half-eaten sandwich.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks, worried.

Dean shakes his head, "Nothing," he murmurs. "Just a bit of a headache," he says, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"Maybe…a memory?" Sam suggests helpfully.

Shaking his head again, Dean frowns too. He swallows his food before he speaks. "If it is, I don't want to remember it. Feels bad." Then the man goes back to his sandwich as if he didn't say anything.

Unable to stop his thought before it crossed his mind, Sam has a tiny hunch that maybe that bad memory was when Sam had left for Stanford.

00000000000

Dean doesn't want to change out of his hospital gown. He doesn't want to put on any shoes. He tells Sam that he doesn't have time to waste putting on clothes when he can explore the bunker instead. And the only reason why Sam relents is because Dean speaks as if he knows what he's talking about, as if he's in charge, and Sam doesn't want to tell him how he is and how he's not. The man is still adjusting and maybe he doesn't want to be the old Dean. Who knows.

Sam explains how the bunker is the safest place on Earth, concerning the supernatural that is, and as long as they purposely or unknowingly don't bring evil in, they're good. Angels and demons wouldn't know where to look for them and ghosts can't penetrate the bunker's walls. Sam has Dean in awe as they pass through the library to a hall of many doors. They discover a few things that not even Sam knew about.

The laughter that pours out of Dean echoes on the walls. "You didn't know what was behind this door? Seemed like you had this place pretty down pat, since you're giving me a tour and all."

"Well, we didn't always live here and sometimes even I can miss things," Sam mutters, but there's no bitterness anywhere in his voice. He likes the sound of his brother laughing. It seems all too long hearing it because of him. "Anyways, I'll remember about this place the next time we need to do a major clean up."

Partway through explaining the mystery of the bunker's power source, Sam hears a rush of wind, feels his hair blow, and even sees Dean's gown drift up enough for his lower buttocks to show. He makes no comment as he turns to the angel before them.

"Cas!" Dean says delighted. "Where've you been, man?"

"I went shopping," Castiel answers, shoving a few items into the other man's hands. "I thought they would help with your memory."

Dean fumbles with the items, trying to right them in his arms, and half-laughs as he catches a porn magazine. "_Busty Asian Beauties_?" he says, quirking a brow. "Should an angel be carrying this around?"

"It's meant for you, but I have no qualms about carrying such an item."

"It's your favourite skin mag, Dean," Sam says. "Not that you need to remember," he adds, giving Castiel a disapproving look, for two reasons: one for trying to suck up to Dean (because it's not the first time), and second for feeding the man's bad habit.

Scoffing, Dean pulls out the next items. "I dunno about that, but there's beef jerky and pie! My favourite! Thanks Cas."

Sam should've known. _Dean and food_, he thinks, rolling his eyes.

After Dean puts the magazine in the library, the pie in the fridge, they go through the rest of the bunker together. He eats a couple jerky's on the way as they explore each room including their bedrooms, a gun range, a gym, and the garage.

When Dean sees the sleek, shining, and black machine of a beauty in the centre of their vehicle depot, he walks over to it, excitement barely contained once he reaches the car. Standing just a few feet away, Sam watches as the man runs his fingers over the hood of the Impala in clear adoration. It's obvious that Dean hasn't lost his attachment to the car.

"Is she mine?" Dean asks, eyes still glued to the Chevy.

Sam sighs, crossing his arms. "Actually, she's ours, but, yeah, she's mostly yours." More than food, it's nice to see his brother feel familiar about something, even if it is an object. He smiles as Dean makes a full lap around the vehicle, eyes not straying once from the glossy exterior. Even Sam has to admit that the Impala is a car of wonder, seeing how it did survive destruction many times over. It gives him hope that he can rebuild his relationship with Dean.

The moment is ruined though when Castiel opens his mouth. "I don't understand why the car is a 'she.' It obviously isn't a living thing and it isn't a woman. It's a car."

Dean snaps his eyes away from the Impala, glaring at Castiel and Sam kind of revels in it. "It's not _just _a car," the man insists. "She's helped us through more times than I can count!"

"Wait, do you remember that?" Sam asks, nearing the vehicle. His heart beats just a little bit faster and he hopes his brother does.

Puzzled, Dean turns his head to the younger man, brows creasing together. "Yeah, I guess I do. Bits here and there," he says squeezing his eyes shut briefly. He brings his right hand up to his forehead and massages it hard. Then he drags it down his face in a long sigh. "It hurts to remember though," he says glancing away, leaning against the car.

"Well, you do have amnesia," Sam starts, but his brother swiftly interrupts, his palm facing Sam to silence him.

"No, it's not headache hurt," Dean explains, suddenly frustrated, "it's more like a painful memory hurt, y'know?"

Sam does know; all too well. He has so many that he can alphabetically organize them all into neat manila folders and file them away in a cabinet into the dark recesses of his mind. If possible, he likes to keep them under lock, but Dean seems to hold a master key to all of Sam's emotions and memories. Or maybe Sam just has a weak lock. Either way, the taller man finally brings himself closer to his brother, placing a firm hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing it.

"I know what you mean and it's okay not to remember if you don't want to, alright?" Sam says patiently. "So, don't push yourself, Dean." Even though Sam thinks it's weird to be the patient one, to be the comforting one (since Dean would always tease him about chick flick moments), but Sam doesn't mind at all the ease that washes over Dean's face. His big brother had comforted him many times when he was young; even until recently Dean played the older brother until Sam wouldn't let him anymore.

"Ok, Sam," Dean says with a nod. He moves away from the younger man, something Sam didn't expect, until he was well out of arm's reach. Then Dean gives an angry huff to no one in particular. "Man, being an amnesiac _sucks_."

Sam gives a low chuckle, crossing his arms again. "I'm actually surprised you took everything in pretty easily."

"Nah, it wasn't easy at all," Dean disagrees, "but having you around all the time definitely helped. You too, Cas," the man adds at the end.

The angel didn't say a word since being snapped on that Sam nearly forgets that Castiel was still standing behind him. He looks over his shoulder, wondering what the angel is up to.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have said your car isn't a woman. She's actually, uh, beautiful," Castiel says. "And very sturdy."

At that, Sam and Dean both laugh because, having your memories or not, seeing the awkward angel trying to apologize and speak in the same endearments as Dean, just isn't the damn same. After laughing for a good couple seconds, Sam decide they should all turn in. It's been a long day.

"Sam, wait," Castiel says before the tall man could leave the garage. "I need to speak with you."

Hearing the seriousness in the angel's voice, Sam nods. He remembers Castiel trying to tell them something at the hospital but with Dean not having his memories, it must've been hard to keep it all unsaid.

"Just give me a moment, alright Cas?" Then Sam heads towards his brother at the bottom of the short staircase. He unconsciously thinks Dean looks ridiculous as usual, with the hospital gown, as he simultaneously speaks. "Hey Dean, uh, Castiel and I need to talk for a bit. You remember where your room is, right?"

He thinks everything is going well, thinks everything is going right, but apparently Sam is rarely right because without warning, the older man gives Sam a sharp look that halts him on the spot. "Yeah, I remember," he mutters turning away.

It comes as a shock to Sam, the sudden mood swing Dean throws at him. One moment the man is chipper, the next he is deadly, then he's cheerful, afraid, happy, pained, happy again, and apparently now pissed. Sam doesn't know how to handle it, doesn't know how Dean handled it when it was Sam throwing a fit all these years, but he knows one thing for sure and that's not letting the night end like this. It never did anyone good anyways.

Sam swears and grabs Dean's forearm before the man passes the door frame. "Wait, Dean," he says forcefully. Then he turns to Castiel at the top of the stairs, tightening his grip when Dean tries to pull away. "Sorry, Cas, is it urgent?" He hates it when Cas has something to say or needs help but he always puts it aside for the man he's currently holding on to. Seems like some things never change even if the person does.

Castiel tilts his head. "Just…an update I would like perspective on, but I can see that Dean needs rest. I will talk to you later when the timing is better." A rush of wind later, the angel is gone.

"You could have talked to him," Dean says lowly, "what if it's important? The angels are warring against each other."

Sam knows all this before Dean even asked him, but what he's worried about right now isn't the angel or wars. It's the man in front of him who gave him one pissed off look that Sam doesn't want to be on the receiving end of.

"If it really was important, Cas would've straight out told us," Sam says letting Dean go. He pulls the rest of the door open. "It can wait. Besides, what did I do to piss you off?"

They stiffly walk through the entrance and into the hall of doors, silent for no more than a few short seconds. "Nothing," Dean answers, walking ahead.

Sam presses, "C'mon, Dean," and easily catches up with the man. "You just gave me the stink eye when I asked if you remembered where your room was."

"I do."

"So what's the problem? I've already showed you around, so, what? You don't want to be alone, is that it?" Sam asks. He recalls how Dean reacted when Sam said he was going to the library a few hours back. It is strangely similar to the one right now. At Dean's refusal to talk though, Sam's frustration seeps into his voice. "Dean, this is one of the reasons why we don't get along—you never answer me honestly!"

"Didn't I say things were a lot easier when you were around?" Dean says through gritted teeth.

"Yeah…you did," Sam says, mildly surprised. "I just thought you looked fine enough to head back by yourself."

Dean shakes his head. "You gave me, like, one tour and you think that's enough? This place is _huge_, Sam. Feels better with someone who knows his way in this place."

"…Yeah, sorry about that," Sam responds awkwardly. He rubs the back of his neck as he continues. "I guess I should've known that, it's just…I'm used to you looking after yourself, Dean."

They stop walking once they reach Dean's room, silence settling in between them as the man peers into his own private space. He doesn't go in though.

Confused, Sam asks, "What's wrong," because his brother wrinkles his nose at the bedroom and steps back.

"I didn't like it the first time I saw it either," Dean mutters, which surprises Sam since the man has always expressed how happy he was with his own room. This Dean, however, looks distastefully at it. "Bad memories," he explains shrugging. "Can I sleep in your room instead?" It sounds more like a demand though, coming from the man's mouth.

"What—you want to sleep in my room?" Sam is honestly stunned. Not only did that mean they would have to share a bed, but Dean is wearing only his hospital gown, a thin piece of nothing that can tear at any moment.

"Someone died in my room didn't they?" Dean says, serious. "Someone," he gestures with his hand around his head, "someone red-headed, right? Long hair, a genius I think."

There is only one red-headed lady in their world and Sam definitely knows she's alive. He did see her walk through a portal to the Land of Oz after all. "You mean, Charlie Bradley? She's the only red-head we know, but last time I checked, she's still breathing, Dean." _Unless she did die and I didn't know about it because I was possessed by a goddamn angel_, Sam thinks angrily. He remembers Dean calling out in a hoarse voice to the angel in him before he blacked out. It all makes sense now, the holes in his memories and Charlie being fine. Fill in the blanks and it's clear that Dean called Gadreel because he wanted to save their friend. Knowing that, Sam can't hate his brother.

"She's alive? I don't exactly know who she is, but I guess it's good she's alive," Dean says in approval. "Still, I don't want to sleep in there. Not tonight at least."

Sam stares at his brother for a few seconds. He couldn't fathom how Dean could sleep in a room knowing Charlie had briefly died in it, but he won't let Dean sleep in there again if his brother didn't want to. Sam, for sure, wouldn't want to if their places were switched.

"Fine, you can sleep in my room," Sam relents with a sigh, "but take a shower and put on some actual clothes, Dean. You stink of the hospital."

A good forty minutes later, after Dean hastily went through his drawers for clothes, showered with Sam still inside the bathroom, and brushed his teeth while Sam waited on the toilet seat, Dean finally crawls into bed. He gives Sam's door a good hard look first though before entering the room, making an absent remark about how it looks very familiar and likes it. Sam gives a half laugh, but when Dean says it's the only thing he recalls that doesn't give him bad memories, Sam stills.

"Y'know," Dean murmurs, settling chest-down on his right side of the bed. He looks at Sam, who has pulled out a chair with its back facing the man. "I can't help but realize something."

Sam dreads the next words, doesn't want to hear it, but hear it he will. He sinks heavily on to the chair, his legs, still in jeans, part to accommodate the back of the chair as Sam rests his forearms, then his chin, on top of the chair. He didn't plan on sleeping anytime soon. "What, Dean?" He asks looking down at the weary man.

Unusual and awkward as their situation is, Sam sucks it up and tentatively listens to Dean when he speaks.

The older man starts slow and tired, "This life we live, I thought it was pretty cool at first, being hunters and all," he gives Sam a sideway glance from his pillow, "but it actually kinda sucks. I mean, whenever I remember something worthwhile, it's not even that great. Either someone's leaving, dying, or just gone."

It's all true, their line of business has its fair share of casualties, but it's been worth it almost every time. Sam lets his brother know just that because he also needs to hear it too. He tilts his head, breathes, and then speaks. "You save people, Dean," Sam murmurs over his forearms. "People die all the time, but you save them. We save them. It's what's being a hunter is all about."

"…Do we get paid?"

At that, Sam snorts. "In gratefulness and appreciation."

Dean chuckles tiredly. "Aren't we chumps."

"Yeah. We kinda are," Sam agrees with a shrug, "but we get by surprisingly well. We've got credit card frauds, we hustle pool, you get the ladies, we make friends, and we actually do get paid once in a while."

"Sounds like a living," Dean laughs quietly, body shaking slightly. He pulls the blankets over his shoulders and closes his eyes.

In two minutes, the sound of breathing fills the room in soothing repetition, almost lulling Sam into sleep himself as he stares at Dean. Not for the first time, Sam notes his brother's age-worn face. It's not the usual stern facade though that Sam is used to. This face, all relaxed in the moments before slumber, is free of tragedies and guilt. Free of any responsibility he has over his little brother and free of being a saviour.

Sam can't remember the last time he watched his brother fall asleep; how he used to like it when he was a kid because, for once, Sam wasn't the weak brat who fell asleep first. Then he could make fun of Dean after when he woke up. Except, whenever Dean fell asleep first it was usually because of a hunt or taking care of Sam all day. But they aren't kids anymore, and it doesn't matter who falls asleep first as long they can get some sleep.

Sam partially drifts off, head nearly nodding off his arms, until a low voice breaks the quiet. He straightens his back and blinks several times, but Dean doesn't open his eyes as he speaks for a final time.

"…For brothers not being so close, you sure took care of me today, Sam," the older man mumbles.

_I learned from the best_, Sam thinks automatically, yet, the words that leave his mouth instead are just three syllables.

"It's Sammy," the younger man whispers, but Dean has already fallen asleep.


	3. Muscle Memory

(Ignore this writing up here. It has nothing to do with me, the writer, or the plot and its only purpose is to act like an extra line so my chapter title doesn't look funny running in to the "Next Chapter" bar. Thank you FF, thank you for that.)

Chapter 3: Muscle Memory

_Afternoon_ s_un, Midwest breeze, and roar of the engines—Sam rides the highway with the windows rolled down as his hair whips back from the wind. His right elbow rests on the side door while his eyes squint through glaring daylight. Sun-baked lands with shrub patches go for miles and miles with not a single road marker in sight. The single stretch of highway, endless back and forth, wavers lazily in the heat._

_The chorus to 'Highway to Hell' is blasting from the stereo as Sam wipes sweat from falling into his eyes. He has been looking off into the barren wasteland he's travelling in, feeling considerably calm and content with just being in the car. His watch isn't working, his clothes are sticking to his skin, and his throat is parched, but he doesn't care because none of it matters._

_He's travelling at the speed powered by three-hundred and eighty-five horses over scorching black tar, yet, Sam feels as if he's just drifting on hot wind. Living at that velocity, in that heat, under stark brightness, and listening to the engine of a lion, Sam sits shotgun on the way to nowhere. Besides the strange floating sensation he's constantly feeling, everything is the usual except Dean hasn't told them their destination yet. It's not uncommon. Being that far out with silence stretching between them like their car and the last motel? The question is just begging to be asked._

_Licking his lips, Sam talks loud enough over the chaos of sounds around him. His eyes don't stray from the scenery. "Where we going, Dean?"_

_No answer._

_Sam waits about five seconds before he turns his head to the driver's seat, but no one is there. Emptiness and a steering wheel stare back at him. _

"DEAN?!" Sam yells out.

He jolts awake, head snapping back, ears ringing from the sound of his own voice. Blood rushes to his head, making it spin as he frantically scans the room. The lights are low and his bed is made with straightened pillows and crisp sheets. As for the blankets, Sam realizes that it's draped over his shoulders. He hasn't moved from where he fell asleep on his chair last night. Dean, however, has.

Like his dream, Dean is nowhere to be found.

An age old alarm, built into him somewhere growing up, sounds in his brain and blood as Sam bolts up from his chair. He nearly knocks it over as he calls out for Dean again. Like his dream, he doesn't receive an answer.

"Fuck, Dean, where are you?" Sam mutters, pushing the chair away. He simultaneously rubs his neck and tries to stretch himself out as he walks unsteadily out his door. One hand slaps the wall in an attempt to right his balance while the other shields his eyes from the fluorescent lights. He doesn't see Dean anywhere in the halls or in the man's room. Voice croaking, he yells for his brother once more. "DEAN?!"

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam spins around and sees Dean clothed just right. Worn boots at the feet, faded denim, and a washed out grey tee, Sam is relieved to hear and see his brother in one piece. "Dean, why the hell didn't you wake me up?" he asks, trying to shake the last remnants of his sleep from his body.

Dean rushes over towards Sam, a quirk in his brows as he helps the younger man straighten out. He places his hands on Sam's biceps and pulls him up a bit. "Uh, I didn't realize I was supposed to?" he answers unsure. "I mean, you were pretty knocked out so, I just left you there to rest up some more. You look pretty tired yesterday, Sam."

_Yeah, it makes sense. I'm just overreacting_, the younger man thinks but it takes a minute or so to re-root himself in reality and convince himself that the dream is wrong.

Breathing deeply, he focuses his mind on his brother's voice and warm palms until he calms down. Gradually, the ringing in his head fades and his heart slows. He takes a couple more breaths before he rights himself. "Sorry," he mutters as Dean's hands leave him.

Dean looks up at Sam and asks, "What happened?"

Sam pushes his hair out his eyes, and shakes his head as if his ruckus isn't a big deal. "It's nothing. Just had a bad dream."

"Ok," Dean says stepping back, shrugging. "If you say so."

Sam blinks. His brother would usually ask what he dreamed about if it seemed intense, but the man here apparently didn't want to delve any deeper. Which is good, Sam supposes. After all, they weren't supposed to be close. Setting boundaries—that's good. Dean remembers.

Sam feels put out anyways.

He shoves his hands into his pocket, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. "Uh, so are you okay?" he awkwardly asks. "Any new memories or anything?"

"Kind of," Dean answers. He stands a few feet away, just opposite the wall where Sam is. "The muscle memory kind anyways," he says grinning. "I woke up this morning and, I dunno, I felt really restless. Didn't want to wake you up cuz you were sleeping like a baby, so I just wandered the place by myself a bit."

Sam recalls yesterday. His brother didn't respond too well with being left alone. Yet, right now it feels all too soon for Sam to have Dean leave _him_ alone.

"You feeling alright?" but the younger man can see already see Dean is alright; there are no signs of uncertainty or fear in the man's eyes that were present the night before. If anything, his gruff looking brother is his usual stubborn self.

"Better than yesterday," says Dean with a huff. "Can't always have you around, right? Anyways, I found myself at the gun range, saw this white handgun, and fired a few shots. I hit the targets like they were nothing," he finishes grinning.

"Wow, that's great," Sam remarks, raising his brow. He really is genuinely impressed. "You need to show me, just in case everything's in working order."

"Yeah, but you need to go wash up," Dean says with an amused smile. "I smell morning breath and your hair is a _mess_."

Feeling super self-conscious, Sam covers the top of his head with his hand. Not being teased by Dean for so long has its consequences. "Whatever," he mutters turning to walk away. His embarrassment is worth it though when he hears Dean's laugh echo down the hallway.

00000000000

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The bullets hit the target clean in the chest, the heart, and the head in swift simultaneous shots. Sam could even hear the ringing in his ears still when he whistles. Dean returns the gun to his side and grins.

After Sam had washed up and changed his clothes, he made himself a quick breakfast: wheat bread with baloney, cheese, and salad. There hadn't been any coffee waiting for him, since amnesiac Dean didn't make it, so Sam settled for tea instead. As promised, he headed over to Dean in the gun range, hearing multiple gunshots before reaching his destination.

Pushing up from the wall he was leaning on, Sam walks towards his brother after the last shot is fired. "You've always been an ace," he comments.

"What about you? You any good, Sam?"

_Sammy_, the taller man automatically corrects in his mind, but he doesn't say a thing. Instead, he takes Dean's challenge. Picking up a gun from the table, Sam turns the safety switch off, uses both his hands to steady the weapon, and then makes sure his feet are a good width apart. He eyes the first target, knows exactly where he's going to hit, exhales, and squeezes the trigger three times. The bullets fly out in quick succession, piercing the target in sharp claps.

Like Sam expected, there are three holes matching Dean's target in the middle.

Sam puts down the gun and glances at his brother. Shrugging nonchalantly, he says, "I'm not bad." But Dean would always call him a sharpshooter. After all, Sam learned the best from his brother, even if the man couldn't remember it now.

"Not bad my _ass_." Dean half-laughs and leans against the table with his lower back, crossing his arms. "What else can I do?"

Sam copies his brother, leaning against the table, but with his hands resting on the metal surface. "Well, you can hustle for pool, lie through your teeth, charm almost any woman, and you can put up a good fight."

It's the last part that has Sam surprised when the older man asks, "Are you better than me in fighting?"

They haven't sparred in so long that Sam doesn't recall who is better. He has seen Dean fight, after the man returned from Purgatory, and he knows his brother is a beast. Sometimes it was hard to watch him go through monsters like flies. Once upon a time, Sam was soulless and he too had been a ruthless killer. It had taught him his fair skills in a brawl but Sam hasn't tested it against his brother yet. It would be nice if Dean isn't an amnesiac.

"I have no idea," Sam admits. "And I don't think testing it out is a good idea," he adds. He recognizes the glint in his brother's eye that sees it as challenge and Sam sighs.

"C'mon, Sam, what's the harm? Let's have a light spar," Dean suggests, pushing away from the table. "I may not remember how to fight, but maybe my body does. Y'know, reflexes and such. Besides, if I'm going to be helping you hunt, I better know my stuff right?"

Sam hasn't thought about Dean helping him, doesn't know if he wants him to because the man could easily get hurt without a full memory intact. The man's aim is excellent, but that won't save him from supernatural creatures all the time. He does want his brother hunting again though, so Sam can keep him close, so they can save people, and so that they can restore the world to its natural order. So, Sam agrees and they go a couple doors down to a gym of some sort with blue mats covering the centre of the room.

They take off their shoes and step onto the mat in silence. Sam parts his feet, legs bending low enough to side step or lunge while his hands are in the air. He eyes his brother's every move, sees the man's uncertainty as he mimics him. No way Sam is going to go easy on his brother. Reflexes aren't a memory.

They circle each other for a minute, then Sam makes his first move. Throwing his right feet forward, he aims a punch for Dean's gut. As expected, Dean dodges the fist, twisting away just in time before he tries his own punch to the taller man's side. Sam sees this coming from a mile away though. He knows his brother, knows how he fights, and he isn't surprised that Dean has easily evaded his first move. They continue this dance of punch, kick, dodge, with Dean looking more confident at every second.

Taking a chance, Sam tackles Dean by the waist and shoves him to the ground, his weight thrown over on top of the man to keep him from moving.

"Shit," Dean breathes out heavily as his head knocks back into the mat.

"Dean?" For a brief second, Sam is worried he might've gone too far with their spar. He stares down at Dean, who's shaking his head, trying to refocus himself. When his brother's grey green eyes clear and meet Sam's, the younger man is brought back to a darkly lit apartment room. They've done this before—the time Dean came to Stanford and told Sam that their dad was missing. All those years ago. Dean had been lying on the floor too, pinned as he is now with Sam over top of him. It didn't stay that way long for long.

Sam should've seen it coming.

He feels Dean grab the collar of his shirt, feels him pull him down, feels the man's legs wrap tightly around his hips, forcing him off balance, and then using his weight as momentum to fall on his back. Before he knows it, Sam is looking up to Dean instead with the man's hands still at his collar, an elbow pushing down his chest, and knees digging into his waist.

Sam is a better hunter, but it seems like Dean will always be the better fighter.

Even though Sam could push Dean away, with some great effort, he doesn't and he's not sure why but it doesn't matter. He half-imagines hearing "_Easy tiger_," in his brother's unusual silence; the older man just stares down, brows scrunched, chest breathing heavily enough that Sam can see it rise and fall.

Sam is panting too, and feels just a little bit dazed. He stares back at Dean, back at eyes usually so full of emotion that it has both of them reeling, but there's only confusion swirling in its place. "What's the matter, Dean?" he asks shakily. "You remember something?"

"No, I, uh…" Dean gapes for a second or two, closes his mouth, and then starts again. He doesn't loosen his hold on Sam. "Are you sure we're brothers?"

"Wha?!" Sam is beyond just startled. He's a little bit offended that Dean is questioning him _again_. "DEAN, I've already told you before, and I'm not lying, that _yes _we are _brothers_. Not figurative brothers, not blood brothers, but honest to god biological brothers."

"…Huh," Dean says, eyes shifting away in thought. Not two seconds after though, they're back at Sam's face, holding his eyes, as if trying to catch something. "Are you sure we aren't close?" he asks, voice quieter than before.

_Now I wasn't expecting that_, Sam thinks, blinking in surprise. He doesn't want to answer the question though; it would lead to more questions and more questions meant more explaining, and when the whole door is thrown open, only guilt, regret, and pain will flow through. Sam doesn't want that for either of them. It takes a while to swallow and regulate his breathing before he says, "Why are you asking all this, Dean?"

"Why? I dunno, Sam. It just feels like I'm forgetting something important." Dean sighs and loosens his hold on the younger man, allowing him to sit up. "Besides an obvious lifetime of memory that is," he continues as they sit apart, "but there is one thing that seems like it should stand out. Like I should recognize it right away but I can't."

It sounds a little strange to Sam, since he honestly doesn't understand it at all. He is grateful that he doesn't have to answer the question from earlier though. Sam shifts his legs so they cross each other, then he leans over them, elbows resting on his thighs. He looks over to Dean who has crossed his legs in a looser form and is leaning back on his hands.

Sam starts, "Okay…that sounds weird, but tell me Dean, because I need to know, do you want to remember what you were like? Do you even want to remember what you used to know? I mean, I know I've told you I'm your brother and that we hunt things, but do you want to go back to all that?" It's a good question that he's been wondering for a while now. What did Dean think about all this?

"Well, you really didn't give me much choice when I woke up in the hospital," Dean replies and continues. "I was already you're brother. It sounded like I should stick with you even if we aren't close. I mean, you were already hauling me off with Cas, didn't even ask if I wanted all this, but what does a guy who doesn't remember know? You just expected it of me, but you've told me and showed me what we have, and then there's this awesome bunker. If I lived it, why not live it again?"

At the same time that Sam is listening, he's also not listening because his ears are stuck on the first few words. That he didn't give Dean a choice. Just like Dean wouldn't let him die, Sam wouldn't let him go. But Dean is important. He has the Mark of Cain, he's an invaluable hunter, he has intelligence that could be used against them in the wrong hands and, last but foremost, Dean is Sam's weakness. His Achilles Heel. He couldn't let Dean go even when he thought about it.

Sam doesn't want to be the same as Dean though. He wants to be the better man and he wants to be able to let go. So, he looks at his brother square in the eye and says, "You don't have to live it again, Dean. I mean, our lives weren't that great and you don't have an obligation to stick around me just because we're family. You can get out of this anytime you want. You don't have to be here."

"Now that just sounds like you're trying to kick me out."

Exasperated, Sam easily refutes. "NO, Dean, that's _not_ what I meant."

In spite of the serious conversation Sam is trying to have, Dean gives a short laugh into the air. "I'm just messing with you," he says smiling. "Seriously though, I can leave whenever I want?"

"Yeah—I mean, no. I mean, you don't have to hunt or anything, but you can stay here if you like. It is your home first."

Dean raises his brow as Sam shifts his eyes elsewhere. "So, what you're trying to tell me is that I can still live here, but I don't have to hunt."

Sam isn't even too sure anymore but he didn't want to _kick_ his brother out. To be honest, he doesn't even want him to leave. "Yeah, you're free to do whatever. Uh, like cook and, um…clean if you want."

"…Alright, since I like it here too much to leave, I'm gonna stay," Dean decides. "I ain't gonna be no housewife though."

"You can work a job!"

"And that job's with you," Dean says, still smiling, "y'know, the one that pays in gratitude?"

Sam doesn't know what to say. He gave Dean a choice and the man just swats it aside like it's a fly. Maybe it's in him to live a hunter's life and no other way is possible, Sam doesn't know, but deep down, the younger man is glad his brother isn't leaving him. He wouldn't know what to do if Dean left him for good.

Slowly, he smiles back at the older man."If that's your decision, alright. You're going to regret it though," he says getting up.

Dean reaches for Sam's outstretched hand and pulls himself forward. "We'll just see about that."

00000000000

For dinner, they drive almost half an hour to Smith County. They have spent most of the afternoon talking about how to hunt, how to communicate and who to call on a case, who to trust and not trust, and of course talking to Castiel. Apparently, the angel has killed one of the angelic faction's leaders and has a few followers on his side. Concerning Metatron, there hasn't been word while Crowley is still AWOL.

By the time they were in the garage, Dean learned how to use the coffee machine, draw the Devil's Trap and a few warding sigils, and even found out about what the marks on his body meant. What he didn't know was that Sam also has the same anti-possession over his chest. Minor details that didn't need to be mentioned; it brought Sam bad memories anyways.

Since getting in the car, Dean has been nothing but enthusiastic while Sam lounges in the passenger side. He muses at his brother's hype, unable to take his eyes off the man's jittering body. Dean is humming, tapping his hand to the rock songs that Sam admits he misses for nostalgic reasons. He's also mentally cursing how Dean's good mood is lifting his sour one. He wants to stay bitter, to stay apart, but Dean just draws him closer without even realizing it. How can Sam stay mad at him when Dean has no memories of their past?

Now he knows how Crowley felt. When the demon came across Castiel again, after the angel had backstabbed him with the whole Purgatory issue, not even the King of Hell, with all his wrath and fury, could sink his teeth into the innocent angel. There was no point. Castiel had lost the fight in him and was chasing after bees. There would be no satisfaction if the angel couldn't hurt too.

"Ok, what, Sam?" Dean asks abruptly. He glances at the taller man who just keeps staring. "You've been staring at me for, like, the past fifteen minutes."

"It's just, you're so happy," Sam answers looking away. Dean was happy too when he saw the angel earlier. "What is it with you and the Impala?"

"Me and Baby go way back. I can just feel it," Dean answers shrugging. "You gave me the keys, so don't complain, Sam. You're stuck with me all the way to Smith County."

The younger man looks away and huffs, "Yeah, whatever, Jerk." Then he pauses, shocked to hear himself say the word he hasn't said in so long. He glances at his brother, half-expecting and half-dreading.

"What's wrong, Sam? Looks like you've just seen a ghost," Dean asks instead.

"No, it's just, you're supposed—" _to call me a 'bitch,' _Sam thinks but he considers it twice and doesn't. "Actually, you know what, never mind that I said anything." He turns away, focusing his attention on the darkening highway and trying not to feel disappointed.

What did he expect anyways?

000000000000

The diner they arrive in is one Sam and Dean have gone to once before. It's a quaint place; dull in its décor, but the company around is boisterous and friendly. Their waitress is Sally, a young brunette with blue eyes, who greets them with a bright smile and shows them to their booth. They've had her last time, Sam remembers. She was the one Dean had kept flirting with.

They sit down on orange coloured seats, with nobody behind them or in front, and then Sally lets them know she'll be back. Sam thanks her as he slides in opposite of Dean, his legs, as usual, settling on either side of the man's right knee. He doesn't think too much about it as they glance at the menu. The chicken salad with soup on the side is looking good, but Dean's legs bump into Sam by accident when he moves and he glances up.

"Wow, I knew you were tall but even your legs are ridiculously long," Dean comments, looking under the table. "How do you live with yourself?" he asks coming back up. His expression even comes across as offended.

Sam snorts, putting down the menu and feeling amused. "Women like tall. By the way, we've had this waitress before. So if she acts like she's familiar with you, she probably remembers us."

Two minutes later, Sally returns and asks for their order. Dean gives her an acknowledging smile. "Just the Jefferson burger and a cup of coffee, please," and hands her the menu.

Not believing what he just heard, Sam gapes. His brother has just said, "please," to their very attractive waitress. Not _darling_, not _sugar_, not even _sweetheart_, but _please_.

"That's what you ordered the last time too," Sally says, her pink lips curving pleasantly.

"Well, don't you have an excellent memory," Dean responds with a polite smile. "I've only been here once before."

"Oh my memory's not much, but a man like you is hard to forget," she says winking. Then she turns to Sam and Dean has to kick him to get the man's attention.

"OH, uh…the salad," Sam says quickly. At Sally's paper and pen expecting look, he adds, "the chicken one. With tomato soup. And water too. Please,'' he swallows, feeling like a fool. Dean gives him a what-the-hell look, but he ignores it and hands the waitress his menu. "Thanks," he says, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"If you boys need anything, just let me know," she smiles sweetly and gives Dean a not so subtle once over before she saunters off.

Sam doesn't even check her out, because for one, he's not interested in the whole flirting scene anymore, and second, he doesn't want to miss Dean's reaction when she leaves. He expects him to unashamedly follow her with his eyes, even if she is way too young, but the older man can appreciate. Plus, she's completely his type. Busty top, wavy dark hair, curvy hips and lips to match—but Dean doesn't even give her a second glance. He blinks at Sam then snaps his fingers in front of his face twice. His eyes have not left Sam's since Sally took his order.

"Sam? Sam, what the hell man? Cat got your tongue or something?" Dean asks with a curious look.

"No no, I'm just surprised," Sam says laughing in disbelief. He leans back in his seat, just staring in wonder at his brother. "You usually call our waitresses 'darling' or some other name, and check them out, or flirt with them."

Dean is leaning over, hands loosely clasped over the other, but he doesn't look like he understands. "So…do you…_want_ me to flirt? I mean, I'm not here to pick up chicks or anything but if it makes you feel better..."

At the suggestion, Sam laughs. "I'm just saying it's taking me some time to adjust to this new you," which is true. His brother hasn't been interacting with anybody except for him and Castiel for the past two days. Seeing him with other people, in different settings, made Sam wonder what the man was like by himself without Sam.

"New me, huh," Dean murmurs, staring at his knuckles. He shifts in his seat, bumping into Sam's legs again. "Guess I can't do anything about that, but Sam, if you need something just ask because sometimes I can't help but, uh, feel like I'm disappointing you somehow."

His shoulders are hunched over the table, a pose that Sam has seen repeatedly over and over again from his brother. Usually it's when they talk about cases. Sometimes, it's a guarded position where Dean isn't too sure about his words.

Despite wanting his brother back, Sam can't just force the man in front of him to be someone else. It would just be selfish. So, he gives the older man a reassuring smile. "Thanks, but even if I ask you for something, it's just not the same. Don't feel bad about it though, okay Dean? You're practically your own person now."

Dean doesn't look convinced though. When Sally returns with their order, Dean barely even notices her efforts for his attention. He just thanks her as politely as before, small smile and everything. Sam doesn't screw up his speech skills this time when he talks to the waitress and the exchange goes smoothly.

There are baby carrots in Sam's salad and he's usually not the type to be picky, but carrots are just one thing he _can't_ stand. He makes a pile of them at the edge of his plate, completely intent on ignoring them until the end of their meal.

"Wha—" Dean begins, but he pauses and chews his hamburger carefully before swallowing. He starts again. "What are you doing? Saving the best for last?" he asks, motioning to the heap of orange.

The brief awe Sam feels when Dean actually swallows his food before speaking is just that—brief. He makes a disapproving face at the carrots right after. "No, I just don't like them."

"Well, don't waste them," Dean says, picking one up and throwing it into his mouth.

Sam blinks. "You like carrots?" he asks slowly, because he knows Dean doesn't. The older man would eat them for him when they were kids because Sam wouldn't. His actions prevented them from getting into trouble if they wasted food in front of their father. Food was scarce then, but carrots were one thing Sam just refused to eat. It wasn't because of the way they looked or even the way they tasted. Sam just didn't like them.

Dean's habit carried into adulthood though while Sam tries not to order food with carrots in them.

The older man shrugs nonchalantly. "I guess. Nothing wrong with them except that they're on the wrong side of your plate. C'mon, turn them over here."

_Today is just full of surprises_, Sam thinks as he pushes his plate closer to the centre and leans closer in the process. It clinks against Dean's plate. _First muscle memory, then him and the Impala, then NOT flirting, and now he likes carrots?_ Sam is left wondering what else is next when he sneaks a fry from Dean's plate.

"That's _my_ fry," Dean says indignant.

Sam just grins. "Call it a trade."

"An unfair one. I happen to like my fries," Dean grumbles, but he lets it slide. He turns his plate too so the taller man could grab them with more ease.

As their meal continues in that pattern, carrot and fry disappearing from time to time, Sam feels Dean's knees occasionally knocking against his and he sees he has Dean's every bit of focus. In a way, it's strange, having that much more attention in such close proximity and talking as if they have never fought. Sam can see all of the man's face: the freckles on his skin, the dark stubble around his jaw, the perfectly plump lips, the twinkle in his eyes, even the crinkles around it when the man laughs at something Sam says.

Out of everything they have done in the past thirty-plus hours, Sam has to admit that this is the most pleasant; unorthodox, yes, and Dean isn't himself, but Sam will take this over strained and awkward conversations any day.

He doesn't know _how_ unorthodox their dinner was until Sam is paying at the counter. Their waitress, Sally, smiles at him and tells him the bill.

"Enjoyed your date?" she asks amiably, her flirtatious tone from before gone entirely.

Sam looks up from his wallet, stunned. "Um…that wasn't a date," he says.

"No, you don't have to deny it, I should've known you guys were together. The first time too," Sally says apologetically. "I hope I didn't annoy your partner."

Sam tries again, "Look lady, you don't have to apologize for anything. He's my brother," he ends, as if that would explain everything.

Apparently it has little effect because Sally raises her brow. "Yeah, like I've never heard that before," she says with a small laugh. "It's alright. I'm not judging you guys or anything, so don't worry about it. You actually look pretty cute together."

Before he can retort at the absurdity, or ask what made her think that (whatever came out first), Dean walks by and nudges his side with an elbow. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just peachy, Dean," he answers annoyed. Pulling out three tens, Sam bites the inside of his mouth as he hands Sally the bills. "Keep the rest," he says, smiling stiffly.

Ten minutes into the drive back to the bunker, Dean is laughing after Sam tells him what happened. He laughs too because it is a little funny.

_Seriously though,_ Sam thinks, _why do we always get mistaken for a couple?_

It's one of the mysteries in his world, a case unsolved that recurs again and again and Sam doesn't know how or why. It's almost as bad as Wendigos and just as annoying as poltergeists, but what Sam hates the most is that he's actually starting not to mind it at all.

* * *

**A/N: So, we are now three chapters in! **Thank you for sticking around so far.

As a writer, I would like to know what you guys think so far. Is it too slow? Not enough details here and there? If so, let me know :)

Until next time.


	4. Family Affairs

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews and favs so far readers! This chapter is longer than the ones out so far, but I hope you'll enjoy it. Feels like I have to put every single thing down that I come up with. Or maybe I'm just really bad at story telling…

**Chapter 4: Family Affairs**

Dean is sitting in the library, laptop open and seemingly intent on whatever he is working on. Watching just a few feet, Sam leans against a pillar just out of the man's peripheral vision. He holds a mug of coffee in his hand, content in its warmth and glad that he didn't have to brew it himself that morning (even if it is a little off). It's only eleven after seven but Sam has a feeling his brother has been up earlier before that.

He stands there for a few minutes longer, contemplating his situation like he has all last night, and just relieved he could look at his brother without feeling anger and guilt. Once he has enough of being a stalker, Sam moves from his position towards Dean.

"Morning," he says and slides into the seat across from his brother.

Dean looks up, slightly startled. His eyes waver as he responds in kind. "Uh, morning to you too."

Sam leans forward and drinks from his cup. After his lips leave the porcelain, he asks, "Anything new today?" Sam meant memories but what he hears instead is anything but that.

"Yeah, there is actually," Dean says, face lighting up. He turns his black laptop around so Sam could see the screen. It's a newspaper headline: _Campus of Death_, Sam reads just as Dean is talking again. "There's been a couple of deaths in Jacksonville, Illinois. The college kids there keep getting murdered, but there's not enough evidence and no one knows who's doing it or why."

"Dean," Sam starts. He wants to say he wasn't talking about cases, but his brother continues.

"And check this out," Dean switches to a different window on his screen. There's a black and white photo featuring late 1880s architecture. "Illinois College has been known for its haunted buildings and a few deaths in the past. Before the recent victims, a—"

"DEAN," Sam says more firmly, putting his mug down. It clacks heavily against the wooden surface.

Dean stops talking and stares at Sam. "What?"

"I meant if you have any new memories," Sam defines. When his brother is silent, Sam urges him on. "Well?"

Eyes shifting away, Dean turns his laptop back to himself. He rubs his neck and sighs. "I dreamed something that might've been a memory. I dunno. It seemed really real."

Sam sees the changes in the older man's behaviour, how Dean is suddenly withdrawn, and it worries him. "Do…you want to talk about it? Maybe I can help you clear up a few things." From the hesitance in his brother's eyes, Sam is sure Dean will refuse to share their feelings, just like the old Dean would. He is pleasantly proven wrong when the man sighs again and speaks truthfully.

"Alright. Well, I dreamed of a house on fire and a man telling me to run," Dean admits, leaning back on his chair. "He was a gruff looking man."

"Dad," Sam confirms, heart beating just a little bit faster. "It's no dream. Our house actually burned when I was six months old."

"Oh…I don't remember seeing you in my dream—I mean memory. I guess our dad was holding you instead and I didn't see it," Dean says, attempting to sort out his thoughts. He looks to Sam for more reassurance but the taller man is shocked into silence.

Sam leans back in his chair too, chest suddenly feeling heavy as he observes his brother's oblivious and innocent face. _He doesn't remember he carried me out of the fire,_ Sam thinks sullenly. Sam himself didn't remember any of this, but Dean had made a great impression when he told Sam all those years ago that he was the one who carried him out. Tiny Dean, all of four years of age, with a sack of baby in his arms…how could Dean remember the fire, their father, and not Sam himself?

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dean," Sam says too quickly. Just to make sure though, he asks, "Do you remember anything else? Carrying something even?" The clueless stare he receives is answer enough as Sam exhales deeply. Not wanting to talk about it anymore, he goes for another question. "Never mind then. Um, anything else you dreamed about?"

The older man hesitates, fidgeting with the keyboard of his laptop before he takes a deep breath. "There is one other thing…dunno if it's a nightmare or a memory, but the same man was yelling at me. Maybe I did something wrong because I was young, a teen maybe and not tall like I am now. He was so angry," Dean says, "angry about keeping watch over something, I'm not sure. But I took a bit of a beating after. Does that ring any bells for you?"

It doesn't, not really because Sam would remember if their dad beaten Dean, especially if he had been a teen, which meant it happened while Sam hadn't been around. There are only two times that Sam can think of where their father would be angry at Dean failing, or not being able to "keep watch." That was a term to refer to Sam.

He recalls him and Dean being shot by two hunters during the Apocalypse. The brothers ended up in heaven together, their paradises' intertwined, and Sam remembers the looks of disappointment in his brother's eyes when he saw Sam's version of heaven. Sam at a Thanksgiving dinner with another family, at a shady cabin where he stayed for two weeks after running away, and on the road to Stanford—they were all a paradise without their father and without Dean. What stuck in Sam's mind from time to time is what his brother had said then. Sam's best memories were Dean's worst, especially when their father had found out about him running away under Dean's watch, but Sam didn't know what that entailed for his brother then.

Sam didn't want to imagine it—didn't want to know that their father abused Sam's only brother, but it all must be true. And it was because of Sam's fault. John Winchester never laid a finger on him, Dean made sure of that, but what had Sam done for Dean? Nothing. He didn't see, he didn't hear, and certainly no one had ever told him. It makes him wonder: what else happened behind closed doors that Sam didn't know about?

Years have passed, but new found guilt and regret have no problem catching up to Sam.

"Well?" Dean asks again, breaking Sam's train of thoughts. "Memory or nightmare?"

The taller man stares at Dean, who has always protected him, and says, "Nightmare, Dean. Just forget about it, alright?"

"Sure…" Dean says slowly, eyeing Sam carefully. "Guess I should also forget about the three other similar nightmares I had too."

_Jesus_, Sam thinks, trying to reign in all his emotions. He runs his hands roughly through his hair as he breathes in deeply. Their father may be dead but that doesn't mean Sam can't feel anger towards their old man. He thinks that if he gets enough oxygen into his lungs, into his brain, then maybe he'll calm down. He doesn't. Not really.

In Sam's delay at answering, Dean murmurs in wonder, "I must've been a terrible son."

"Don't say that," Sam snaps in frustration. He leans forward, fully acknowledging that they aren't talking about nightmares anymore. "Don't put yourself down like that because it's not true, Dean. If anyone's terrible, it's me. I was the bad son. I was the brother that wasn't there. None of that was your fault, alright?"

"Yeah, but don't go putting all the blame on yourself," Dean answers, brows raised. "Never does anyone good."

Sam blinks in surprise by Dean's quick resolution.

"Let's just say bad circumstances, bad timing, wrong choice of words—whatever, it happens. But it's the past," Dean says looking away, calm. "I'll forget about it…but what happened to our dad anyways? Where is he?"

"The last time we saw him was in a cemetery," Sam answers quietly. "Hopefully he's in a better place now."

"…Our mom?"

Sam looks down. "Same with her too," he murmurs.

"Any other brothers? Sisters?" Dean asks, voice low.

When he woke up that morning, Sam didn't think he was going to answer all these questions, but it's what he's doing now and there is no avoiding it. He'll answer truthfully because this he can do. Gripping his mug even tighter, Sam responds with glances to Dean's face, "We had a half-brother," no need to explain the past tense there, "but we don't have any sisters."

"…Just us?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, it's just us," he answers, but he doesn't want to make it sound all too bad. There is other family out there, Dean has told him so and Dean has made it so. "But we do have people like family," Sam adds, trying to appear positive. "Like, like Cas, that funny angel man you like so much? He's our guardian. And Charlie, the red-headed genius? She's like our sister. There's also a sheriff who acts like our mom, uh, Jody—Jody Miller. I'll show her to you—"

"Sam," Dean interrupts with a snort. "It's okay. You don't have to comfort me, or whatever it is you're trying to do there. I'm fine."

_I'm fine._

How many times have those words been uttered and every single time they have been false? Sam has had his fair shares of, "I'm fine." In the end, he always suffered and brought Dean down with him. He doesn't want to do that anymore, and he'll stop Dean from doing it too.

"No, you're not, Dean," Sam says, shaking his head. "I know you and I know us, and _I'm fine _never fixes anything. We've lived without our parents for a long time, but we still have family, ok? I mean, I'm still here. Cas, Charlie, Jody—we all are. So…uh…just…." Sam actually doesn't know what else to say, letting his words trail into silence as he looks uncomfortably at the table.

Light laughter saves him from his awkward situation though; when Sam looks up, his brother is smiling at him with an amused look. "Alright, Sam, I hear you. I'm not actually sad or anything. Just trying to figure out how I'm supposed to feel—how _your_ Dean would feel about this."

"You don't have to," Sam starts.

"I know," Dean ends. "We've had this conversation yesterday. I believe you. Besides, if you and Cas are family, I can't wait to meet the rest."

So, on an impulse, Sam decides he'll show Dean they're family. They put their potential case aside for the time being, pack up, and leave just five minutes before eight am. Sam doesn't tell Dean who they're going to meet, just that they're heading up to Sioux Falls for a few hours.

00000000000

"Sheriff Jody?"

The woman in front of them is out of uniform, but the stance she gives is one of confidence and authority as she looks at the two men before her. She breaks into a smile, her opposing figure easily slipping away into affectionate and welcoming. "Sam, Dean, it's good to see you boys again," she says grinning. Opening her door further, she motions for them to come in.

"It's good to see you again too, Jody," Sam answers stiffly as he walks in after his brother. Even though he was the one who decided they would come here, Sam is surprised that Dean recalls the woman's name so easily. It took only one look and the name came rolling off his brother's tongue. Just like Castiel's and just like the Impala's.

They all settle into the living room, with a pot of tea and some biscuits, before Sam actually explains to Jody why Dean seems off.

"Well I'll be damned," she says sitting back, overwhelmed. "So, if angels can't fix it, how do you still remember me?"

Dean shrugs from where he's lounged beside Sam on the sofa. "Dunno. Memories come to me in my dreams but sometimes, like with you, I just remember the person when I see them again."

_Except me_, Sam can't help but think bitterly. He keeps a smile on though as they continue to converse. As minutes tick by, he can feel his brother relax until their shoulders and their thighs are touching. Like a very short domino effect, Sam reluctantly finds himself relaxing too. A few minutes later, when Jody gets up to refill their teapot, Sam turns his head just enough to see his brother and asks him how he's doing.

"Fine," he says smiling. "I'm great. She's great," he adds when Sam gives him a funny look. "And you're right; she really is like a mother. Not that I have anyone to compare her by but I can imagine. She's fussy."

"Right? I told you she's just like our mom," Sam says quietly. He gives a small grin and loosens up even more as Jody returns with the teapot and a plate of more biscuits. She lifts the pot in a questioning motion. Did he want some or not? He politely declines, too reluctant to move and part from Dean's comforting warmth. To his great disappointment, however, Dean does.

"Thanks Jody," says the older man. He leans back after accepting the cup of tea and resumes nestling his arm between his and Sam's body.

"By the way," Jody says, catching Sam's attention, "there's a strange case going on that I thought would be right up your alley. Interested?"

"Yes!" Dean answers with eagerness. He sits up straighter, which kind of annoys Sam because it interrupts his state of comfort. "What's it about?"

Jody smiles fondly at Dean and sips her tea before she answers. "I'm thinking vengeful ghost. I was following up on a murder case. A woman called Renee Wells was killed a few weeks back, but we haven't found the person who did it yet. Her family cremated her body, but a few of her relatives claimed to see her ghost after."

Curious, Sam asks, "Where?"

"Shortly before her mother and uncle were murdered a couple days ago—at their own home," Jody answers.

"Well, if she's out looking for revenge, it might've been someone close to her. Since she's already cremated, we need to find something that binds her to this world. We'll stay a few days and find out," Sam offers. "Do you have their addresses?"

"I have better: a list of the people who were invited and attended the funeral."

Jody gives them their addresses and her research notes. She also lets Sam and Dean know that they can stay for dinner and for the night as well, before they leave to conduct their own investigations. Sam refuses, saying that her son's old bedroom bed is too small and that the couches are too cramped for men over six feet, but they will stay for dinner.

Shortly after, they arrive at a corner shop, find some rental suits, then their off to interview the only man who didn't attend the funeral.

00000000000

Jacob Harley is twenty-eight years old, tall, leanly built, and fairly handsome with his clean-shaven face and dark hair swooping over one side of his head. He's a high-salary businessman who lives in the suburbs. Despite his suits, his ring, and family photos on the walls, he isn't a married man. Sam and Dean manage to get into his house, posing as local detectives looking for more evidence or clues that they can use to catch Renee's murderer. While Sam talks to Jacob in the living room, while Dean stands to the side, observing the room.

"So, if you were going out with Renee, why didn't' you attend her funeral?" Sam asks, wrinking his nose. He doesn't like the faint smell of cigarettes hanging in the air.

"I didn't kill her if that's what you're thinking," Jacob responds sharply. "I've only met her two months ago, but she is very dear to me. I would _never_ kill her," he adds quietly. "I didn't want to share my sorrow with her prideful and opportunist family. They don't _approve_ of us."

Sam notes the present tense but doesn't question it. "Do you know who might've killer her?"

Jacob looks at him, anger in his eyes as he stands up. He accidently hits the table between them, rattling the ash tray in the middle. "I've told all you investigators and policemen the same thing. Why haven't you arrested him yet?!"

Dean automatically gestures the man to calm down and sit, appearing every part a bodyguard rather than an investigator. "And who would that be?" he demands.

"Ewan McFarlane is who!"

Sam is already sporting a headache by the time he leaves the house and heads over to Ewan's home.

As the hours pass, Sam learns that the case gets less supernatural than it does political. Ewan McFarlane isn't only Renee's husband to be, but he was her childhood friend and best friend. Even his family is closely associated with the Wells. Both are power families heavily influential in the political and financial sector. They've decided to join each other with the union of their offspring to compete against the Harley Foundation, their long time rival. Of course to make things more complicated, the head of the foundation is Jacob Harley.

To make things complicated to worse, all of Renee's possessions, prized and casual, were also cremated with her in the fire.

"Wow, do we want to dip our feet in this?" Dean ponders over a plate of steak. "This is great by the way, Jody." He takes another stab at it as Sam comments.

"Well, we're already knees deep in the waters. We may as well go swimming," he says before he puts a spoon of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

Jody laughs from across the table. "Alright you boys, enough with the figures of speech. I'm surprised you even managed to get anything out of the Wells family."

"They're a shady bunch alright. They were threatening Jacob about something, based on what we clued in on, but we still haven't figured out what yet. He didn't want to say what it was. Same goes with Ewan. As for the ones who ended up dead? Apparently they were the ones trying to blackmail Jacob. EMF readings all over the crime scene, so we know Renee is involved for sure. We just don't know how or why," Sam summarizes.

"By the way, Jody, you didn't mention that Ewan might be the killer," Dean asks, halfway through cutting his steak.

Jody sighs. "We didn't find any evidence that directed towards him, and the higher up officials wanted to close the case."

"Bribery?" Sam wonders.

"From the Wells and McFarlanes," Jody confirms with a huff. She brings a glass of water to her lips and gulps down the remaining content. "But I hope you boys will find something. The Wells family and Ewan look like they're in it together somehow."

"You know who we've left out?" Dean asks, but before anyone can respond, he answers himself anyways. "Girlfriends."

Sam and Jody look to Dean with a startled look. "What are you talking about?"

"We've all been going through people related to Renee. Who we haven't talked to are people outside the Wells family and the people possibly involved." Dean points a fork at Sam and grins. "What we need to do is talk to her girlfriends. Chicks love to talk right? Maybe they'll tell us what everyone else is trying to hide."

It is a good suggestion and they agree they will look for the girlfriends tomorrow.

After dinner, Sam and Dean help Jody clean up but ended up staying the night based on her insistence. She reasons why pay for a motel if there's someone willing to house them and feed them? Dean looks like he wanted to stay, so Sam accepts, not that he is in anyway affected by his brother's silent hopeful look. He reasons to himself that they're just short on cash, that's all.

0000000000

Sam wakes up to morning light in his face and the smell of bacon. He quickly sits up in alarm, forgetting where he is until Jody calls out cheerfully, "G'morning, Sam."

At the sound of her familiar voice, the taller man calms down and rubs his eyes."…Mornin' Jody," he greets groggily. He looks to the right sofa but doesn't see the man who slept there last night. "Where's Dean?" he yawns, throwing his legs over on to the floor. His feet don't exactly reach the firm rugged floor like he expects though. Instead, he feels soft wool blankets and what seems to be a soft tummy beneath it.

His brother groans from beneath his feet. "Sam?" the man asks sleepily, like it's normal to be sleeping on the floor right beside Sam's sofa. "Wha the hell you steppin' on me for?"

"_Dean_?!" Sam says in shock, feet still on his brother. "Why the _hell_ are you on the floor over _here_?!"

Dean rubs his eyes, annoyed as he swats Sam's feet away. "What'cha bitching about now?" he asks struggling to sit up, "I'm on the sofa…" but doesn't finish his sentence when he looks around with as much surprise as Sam. "What the hell am I doing on the floor?" he asks, confusion plastered on to his face.

"Beats me too, boys, but get both your butts in the kitchen right now and eat your breakfast before I leave," Jody says, a hand on her hip and a sizzling pan with the other. She wore an apron that read _Kiss the Cook_ in pink over black cloth.

Sam and Dean don't argue as they head into the kitchen and eat their breakfast. The tallest of them all thinks it's weird not brushing and washing his face first, and he thinks it's weirder to wake up with an older woman cooking breakfast for him, but he doesn't mind when he sees the light atmosphere that fills the room. He finishes his bacon, eggs, and garlic bread breakfast without further ado and watches as Dean kisses the cook on the cheek right after.

Jody laughs, eyes twinkling with surprise and humour as she pats Dean warmly on the side of his neck. "Alright, funny man, I've got to head to work now," she says smiling and pulling off her apron. She looks to Sam too as she speaks, "Good luck on the case and make sure to lock the door before you go out."

"Just like a mother," Dean says snorting as he heads to the washroom. "What are we, twelve?"

Sam chuckles and agrees.

On their way out half an hour later, they almost forget to lock the door.

00000000000

"So, you're Renee's best friend?" Sam asks, pen and paper pad in hand and sitting on the sofa.

The woman in front of him, Janette Fields, a twenty-four year old blonde with flashing white teeth and glasses, nods her head. "Well, her _other _best friend. Ewan was always her best friend first, but not since…you know, their engagement. They grew up together and she had always told me that he was like a brother to her."

"But Ewan didn't see her the same way?" Dean asks, standing behind Sam.

"No, everyone knew he loved her, even Renee," Janette answers. "She didn't mind the engagement until after she found out about her real brother."

"_Real_ brother?" Sam repeats, a brow rising with interest. "Renee was adopted into the Wells family?"

"Yes. She told me she was about four when it happened and she knew about it for a couple years before she decided to actually look for him. When she did," Janette hesitates for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, Agents. It was very personal information she gave me."

Sam sighs and snaps his paper pad closed. He leans forward, tired of being the patient one. "Ms Fields, your best friend is dead. Her fiancé is suspected of man-slaughter and Jacob Harley, the man who is being threatened by her family for unknown reasons, is somehow involved in all this. We are investigating a murder case that has a body count of three so far, all from your best friend and her family," Sam says in all seriousness. "If you are withholding information from us for any reason, more deaths will come and they will be on your hand."

Janette visibly pales and he can tell Dean is giving him a dirty look.

Sam doesn't feel too good about threatening a perfectly fine woman either, but she is the most susceptible to authority. The other people he had talked to have the 'right to remain silent' and they're powerful enough to do so. With an army of lawyers and shady bureaucracy, Sam needed a break through somewhere. It may as well be here.

He doesn't like the answer he receives.

When Jody phones and gives them more bad news, Sam doesn't like it either.

00000000000

Back to where they started, Sam and Dean sit across from Jacob Harley. The same wooden table with an ashtray on top separates them.

"So, you're brother and sister," Dean starts all gruff and annoyed. "Care to explain to us why you neglected to tell us?"

Jacob looks away. "It wasn't important."

"Yeah, apparently that's what everyone else seems to think too except it's the reason why your sister is dead along with two of her family members. Nope, it wasn't important at all," Sam comments sarcastically. Dean shoves his elbow into the taller man, giving him a warning look. Sam can't help but feel irritated though. The foolish things people do; all for what?

"She told me who she was and we decided to meet two months ago," Jacob says quietly. "I thought, 'why not,' but then I saw her and…I felt complete." He clenches his hands together as he stares hard at the ring on his finger. "I felt whole for the first time in my life, like she was the missing piece in me and she felt the same. Her family didn't approve, saying how we were blood and that it was wrong and that she was frolicking with the enemy. So, she cancelled her engagement, said we were going to elope, but Ewan wasn't happy about that. I told her I would go with her to end their engagement, but she said it would only anger her fiancé. That's the last time I saw her alive."

Sam's ears prick at the man's choice of words at the end. "So you've seen her again, as a ghost?"

Jacob looks sharply at the taller man. "There's no such things as ghosts."

"Explain why Renee's mother and her uncle died. I heard they would destroy your company if the press found out about your affair with your sister. Is that why you told her to kill them, Jacob? So your company wouldn't fall?"

Sam feels the chilling drop in temperature before Jacob could respond. Then a voice, sweet, unsteady, and eerie fills the air.

_"Jacob didn't ask me to kill them. I decided to kill them myself. I'll kill anyone who tries to harm my Jacob…"_

Reflexively, Sam and Dean rise from their chair, guns sliding out of their holsters beneath their jackets, as their eyes dart about.

"Renee, baby," Jacob says standing up, his voice softening. He reaches out into the air as Renee's fleeting white form appears. She's beautiful in her white, blood-stained dress, dark translucent hair flowing as she moves. Her face rests in the palm of Jacob's hands and she gently touches the ring on his finger. "I told you to stay upstairs, didn't I?"

_"Silly man, you know I don't like staying in one place,"_ she answers, voice still uneven and haunting. _"These men," _she adds, head turning unnaturally towards them, _"they want to kill me. They're here to separate me from you again. You won't let them will you?"_

Jacob steps in front of Renee, as if to protect her, and demands, "Who are you people?"

"Doesn't matter, we're here to put an end to Renee and her killing spree," Sam answers, focusing his aim at the ghost. "Step away from her, Jacob."

"_Sam_," Dean hisses beside him, "we don't have a _clue_ what will get rid of her."

"The ring," Sam mutters under his breath. "Get the ring on his finger."

"What about Ewan, huh?" Jacob shouts angrily over Sam's voice. "He's just going to get away with her murder?"

"He's already dead!" Sam shouts. "She's killed way more than Ewan has already. You're just going to let her keep doing that? She's out of control, Jacob!"

Sam doesn't know which is more haunting; Renee the actual spirit, or the look in Jacob's eyes as he answers, "If it means being together with her, then yes."

It's the last warning before everyone springs into action. Dean runs forward as Sam cocks his gun at Renee and lets loose a shower of rock salt in her face. She vaporizes right before she reaches his brother, but Sam knows she won't be gone for long. He can hear Jacob yelling angrily in the background as Sam rushes to the fire place and pulls out the iron fire poker. Instinctively, he swings it around him, catching the vengeful spirit in the neck as she shrieks behind him. By the time Sam looks to Dean, Jacob is knocked out on the kitchen floor with his ring being pulled off.

He hurries towards Dean in the kitchen, looking for salt as his brother looks for a metal bowl. Heart racing, Sam pushes Dean down and shoots Renee again. "Hurry up, Dean!"

"I'm trying!" the older man yells back. "This is my first hunt, what do you expect?!"

Instead of responding, Sam shoves the man aside and pulls the trigger again. He honestly didn't expect a ghost, who's only been dead a short time, to be so powerful. He pulls open a bag of salt and makes a quick and rough circle with it around him and his brother, but keeps a watchful eye out.

"Shit," Dean curses, looking up at Sam, eyes frantic. "I didn't bring a lighter."

"Fuck," Sam mutters. He didn't bring one either. Taking a breath, he steps over the salt line and yells over his back, "Don't step out of the circle, Dean, you hear me? I'll be back!"

"Wait! Jacob smokes!" Dean calls out before Sam gets too far. "Check his pockets!"

Falling to his knees, guard completely down, Sam dives into every pocket the unconscious man has. Relief washes over him when he feels the familiar shape of a box of matches and pulls it out. He doesn't see Renee as he rises to his feet and doesn't see her as she stabs her fingers into his side. Gasping painfully, he nearly falls to his knees as he hears a shot go off and Renee temporarily subsides.

"Sam!" Dean yells out. He brings his gun down, about to cross the salt line but Sam stops him.

"Stay in the circle, Dean!" he shouts and throws the box of matches towards the man. It lands safely in his reach before Dean is ripping off the casing and pulling out a stick.

Sam tries to get to his feet, a hand pressed against his aching side, but he doesn't go far. He feels a hand grab his ankle and pull him down flat to his stomach, which hurts him even more. Turning painfully on to his back, he's prepared to shoot the ghost but what he isn't prepared for is an armed human.

Jacob smacks the gun from Sam's hand and grips his neck with a surprising amount of strength as a carving knife is raised above him. Suddenly, there's shrill screaming that stops Jacob in his tracks and he looks up. Sam has no need to know what's going on because he knows Renee is already burning, based on the amount of screaming and orange flickering around the room.

Aiming to punch Jacob's gut, he's surprised when Dean does it for him instead. Well, a kick to the chest to be more specific.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asks, pulling the man to his feet.

Sam coughs. "Yeah, yeah I am." He turns around and sees the last flames in the metal bowl die out.

Throwing Sam's arm over his shoulder, Dean says in a low voice, "Let's get out of here."

The sounds of sobbing could be heard as they left the house.

00000000000

Sam winces when alcohol runs over his wound on the side and tries to hold in the hiss that threatens to escape his mouth. "Dean," he says looking up, trying to catch his brother's eyes, but Dean's head turns away, muttering, "Stay still." They haven't properly talked since they left Jacob's house and Sam, for all his brains and IQ, doesn't understand why.

They're crammed up in the washroom with Sam shirtless sitting on the side of the bath tub and Dean on the toilet lid with a needle in hand. Tired of the silent treatment, Sam is just about to speak up when Jody comes in with a wash towel and basin. "You holding up alright, Sam?"

"Yeah, just need a couple of stitches is all. Besides, I've had worse," the man answers with a small smile. He feels Dean's hand on his side twitch and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Sam has his brother's full attention. Dean fixes his eyes on Sam, stuns him with one fierce look before he pulls away.

"I'm sorry, Jody," Dean says standing up, looking all humble. "Can you help stitch him up? I don't think I remember how to do it too well."

"Sure thing, Dean," and Jody easily takes over as Dean leaves the washroom. A minute of silence and heavy breathing slides by before the woman speaks again. "So…what's up with you two?"

Sam flinches for the fifth time as the needle pierces his skin. "I don't know," he admits. "We ganked a ghost, and that's always been good, but I don't know what's wrong with him."

Jody hums. "Your brother's looking good," she comments.

"Yeah, made sure nothing happened to him," Sam murmurs, looking at the bathroom door. "It's his 'first hunt' after all."

"Then what happened to you?" Jody asks, pulling the needle through Sam's skin.

"Caught off guard while I was looking for a lighter," he answers scoffing. "Ouch!"

"Maybe that's why he's angry," the sheriff says, ignoring Sam's protest.

"Angry?" Sam laughs. "I get hurt all the time."

"You said this is his 'first hunt,' well, maybe it's his first time seeing you get hurt too," Jody suggests. She ties the last string up and pats Sam on the shoulder. "There, you're all patched up. Now don't strain yourself too much or you'll break those open, y'hear me young man?"

Looking up with a fond smile, he answers. "Yes, ma'am."

0000000000000

Later that night, Sam feels a hand run through his hair. He blinks awake at the old time gesture. "Dean?" he asks in a low voice, but his brother doesn't respond. The older man just stares vacantly at Sam, as if he didn't see him or hear him, before he quietly throws his pillow and blanket down on the ground beside Sam's sofa and tucks in.

"What the hell…Dean, are you sleepwalking?" Sam whispers in surprise. He turns to lay on his stomach, so he can see his brother. A light snore is the only answer the taller man receives. As Sam gazes down at Dean's sleeping face, he recalls this similar situtation. When they were young, Sam used to climb in to Dean's bed. Usually, it happened after a hunt and Dean was hurt. The older man would always let Sam in, draping an arm over his small body and reassuring him that he was okay. Sam remembered feeling anger, sadness, and frustration all the time when Dean got hurt. Over the years, he's gotten used to it. They both could take a beating and not worry over each other unless it was life-threatening, but…

_He doesn't have his old memories_, Sam thinks, sliding a long arm over the side of the sofa and laying it across Dean's chest. _He doesn't remember how to get used to me getting hurt…_

As more thoughts fill the younger man's head, he feels his outstretched arm being tugged as Dean turns to his side, facing away from the taller man. Sam's limb is tucked snuggly between the man's armpit as his fingers are intertwined with Dean's.

_Huh, that's new…_ Sam thinks sleepily. He doesn't pull away though, fully content with their half-snuggle. As slumber wraps around him, his eyes droop close, and his last thoughts are Jacob's words.

_"…but then I saw her and…I felt complete. I felt whole for the first time in my life, like she was the missing piece in me…"_

* * *

**I know there's a lot in this chapter** and the case seems ridiculously long, but I wanted to get it all down. So, please, let me know if it's too much and I'll try not to do the same thing the next chapter. I'm open to suggestions and to comments on what I can work with. Thanks :)


	5. Kevin the Friendly Ghost

**A/N: **Thank you everyone who has reviewed and faved and are following. I appreciate your support thus far :)

Chapter 5: Kevin the Friendly Ghost

He has checked the library, the planning room, and practically every other room the bunker could store within its walls, but Sam has not seen Dean in over twelve hours.

At first, Sam left the man to his own devices, giving him time to adjust to the new information he was recently bestowed with. Eventually, Sam realized that he really wasn't seeing Dean _anywhere_ at all. No notes were left on tabletops, or counters, or even taped to the front door. Dean's only pair of working shoes was gone and his limited wardrobe was nearly empty. The man's gun, wallet, phone, and travelling duffel were all also nowhere to be found. Sam even tried phoning his brother's cell but the call was never picked up. He tried to track it, but the man's cell phone GPS system was turned off.

Sam has been searching for his brother non-stop for the last three hours, hand ruffling his hair in frustration with each empty room he comes across and with each useless phone call he makes. Not even Castiel could find Dean since the man is already warded. Now that Sam is running out of options, he's frantic as he makes a sprint towards the garage.

As his footsteps sound around him, Sam's single thought is that Dean has finally gotten sick of him and has left him for good.

00000000000

_72 Hours Ago_

Light too bright and voices too loud, sleep slowly recedes from Sam's mind as he pushes through his curtain of dreams and into the real world. He's still lying on his stomach, cheek against the rough fabric of Jody's couch as he faces the window. His left arm is hanging off the edge as well and the first thing Sam does when he roots himself to reality is squeeze his fingers. To his disappointment, there's no other flesh and bone between his digits from last night other than the feeling of his own rough skin.

Sam doesn't know why he wishes it as he sweeps the rest of his arm across the empty floor towards him, but he wants Dean there. He wants to wake up with his brother's hand in his and Dean's body beneath Sam's arm, just to see what the older man's reaction would be. And maybe he just wanted a little more affection (not that Sam would ever admit that).

The tall man groans out a sigh from the morning light, as he moves to turn on his back. Then he's groaning in pain instead from the stitches on his side.

"You alright, Sam?"

Without even having to look to see who spoke to him, Sam answers. "Yeah, I'll live, Dean. Just tired and bruised…" he braves against the on-slaughter of light and rubs his eyes. Then he struggles to sit up, careful not to move his stitches too much. Once he settles in a comfortable and straight position, with both feet on the floor, he looks at his older brother.

Dean is already dressed and sits right in front of him on the coffee table. Two bowls of cereal are in Dean's hands, with one being offered to Sam. "Jody's working. Said we can eat anything so, here," Dean explains.

"Dean, I haven't even brushed my—"

"It's going to get soggy and warm," the older man interrupts. "Take it, Sam."

Tired, the younger man obeys with a little shake of his head and a small smile. He remembers how Dean used to treat him like this when they were younger. Some things just don't change, but as Sam lifts a spoon full of milk and Special K into his mouth, he faintly wonders how it's possible with amnesiac Dean. Was Sam acting in such a way that was compelling Dean to treat him like a younger brother? Or is Dean, at some level, instinctively being a big brother?

"What?" Dean asks, wiping milk from his lips. "Why're you smiling?"

Sam shrugs. "It's nothing. Just remembered you used to treat me like this when we were younger." When Dean doesn't comment right away, Sam takes his time chewing his cereal, trying to come up with something that they could talk about. Up to this point, it hasn't been totally awkward for them to talk. Sam can't pinpoint what went wrong but he knows Dean isn't his usual (for his amnesiac state at least) self. The man is quiet and reserved as he eats; not even his eyes are meeting Sam's. However, the fact that Dean is still sitting in front of the younger man gives Sam just a little relief.

As he stirs his cereal, Sam tries to sound nonchalantly when he speaks. "So, uh…did you sleep well last night?"

Dean lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. His eyes are focused on his bowl as he continues to eat. "Yeah, somehow ended up on the floor again though."

"Apparently you were sleep walking or something. You didn't answer me when I said your name," Sam commented. Dean just nods; they don't say anything more. The next few minutes are filled with slurps and crunches.

Slightly put out, Sam looks at his bowl and figures he has about five spoonfuls left. When Dean decides to talk again, he's already finished with the cereal.

"I dreamt, or remembered—whatever—a few good things."

Sam puts his bowl aside, interested with what these 'good things' are. "Oh, really? Like what?"

"Homemade apple pie, fixing the car with Dad," the older man says. Yet, in contrast with the happy memories, Dean sounded strangely…unhappy. "Uh, kissing this girl who taught me how to play a guitar, saving Jody, seeing Cas, talking to someone who kept calling me an _idjit_, and, um, what else was there...? Oh, right, something about being _Garthed_."

After being upset the first few times Dean relayed his Sam-less memories, one would think the taller man would have gotten used to the hurt already. But Sam doesn't, not even close. Instead, the void in him only grows bigger when he listens to his brother talk. He gives a brief and strained smile. "That's great, Dean," he says standing up. "You're slowly remembering everyone."

"Yeah," Dean murmurs in agreement and finishes the last of his breakfast.

Half an hour later, they're out the door. A yellow note is left on the kitchen table thanking the sheriff for everything.

00000000000

_Four Hours Later_

"Why do I have to stay in the car?" Dean asks gruffly. "I drove us here, so why can't I go in?"

Sam closes the passenger door and leans down to talk to his brother through the window. "Because after your first case, I don't think you want to see this."

Dean's expression immediately turns suspicious. "You're going into that old house _alone_ to look for a _ghost_?"

"It's not like I haven't hunted alone before," Sam says exasperated. "And I told you, I'm checking up on a friend and his mother just to make sure he didn't turn into something like Renee. If things turn sour, I can handle it."

"_NO_, I'm coming with," Dean declares, stepping out of the car. "I'm not letting another ghost put holes through your side."

Sam doesn't anticipate the older man's resilience and it kind of touches him that this Dean, with his limited memories, has come to care so much about him. But Sam cares equally just as much, if not more, and desperate now he chooses words that'll hurt. "You'll just get in the way, Dean," he tries. As expected, the older man gives him a glare but Sam would rather Dean be hurt by this than have him endure the pain of seeing Kevin's ghost.

"I may not remember you but that doesn't mean I don't recognize a lie when I see one, Sam," Dean counters and slams the car door shut. He rounds the hood and says steadily, "You can't change my mind. Let's go."

Half admiring and half annoyed Sam follows Dean up the rickety old house door steps. They ring the doorbell and wait for about a minute before Sam pulls out his pick-lock tools. In less than five seconds flat, they're in the house.

"You've gotta teach me how to do that," Dean comments as they walk through the door way.

Sam chuckles lightly and pockets his tools before pulling out a flashlight. "Funny how you say that, since you were the one who taught me in the first place—big brother duty and all."

"I knew it!" Dean starts but a feminine voice breaks through their conversation.

"Sam, Dean?"

Both men turn towards the woman's familiar voice, nearly blinding the petite Tiger Mommy with their flashlights. "Mrs. Tran?" Dean asks surprised.

She turns on a light switch and answers exasperated, "Yes, it's me—"

Sam ignores the stinging pain in his chest and interrupts. "I phoned you earlier but you didn't pick up." He turns off his flashlight and continues, "I thought you might've been hurt or worse, Mrs. Tran. How's your son?"

"I'm j-ust fine, Sam." Kevin's voice flickers as he too flickered into their sight.

Dean stares wide-eyed at the pale-faced apparition in front of him. Lights went on and off just a bit and the air grew chilly around them, but the older man doesn't seem to notice it. "Kevin?"

Not for the first time, Sam grows irritated by Dean's quick recognition of _every _person they've met. He's also a little afraid too that Dean will remember how Kevin died. Before his brother can say anything else, the taller man promptly asks Kevin if him and his mother are actually alright.

"So far we're doing fine," Mrs. Tran answered, arms folding over her chest. "And the reason why you couldn't reach me is because Kevin here short-circuited my phone with his supernatural powers."

The ghost prophet shrugs his shoulders and smiles. "Still trying to get used to all this."

Relieved that mother and son are doing absolutely fine, Sam relaxes his body and asks if there is anything he can do to help them with. Mrs Tran, being the strong and resourceful woman she is, says she doesn't need anything and the two will do just alright. After their well-being is confirmed to be healthy, Sam plans to leave the two be and head for another hunt the next state over. However, Kevin has questions that the taller man wanted to avoid.

"So, you two seem to be alright," the young ex-prophet asks. "Did you guys finally make up?"

Dean looks sharply at his brother. "What does he mean by that, Sam?"

"Uh, Kevin, Dean lost his memories a few days ago so the situation isn't exactly the same," Sam says to the ghost.

Kevin raises his brows and says innocently. "So you're saying you haven't told him about anything like how he let you get possessed by an angel and how that eventually led to my death and how that all made you not want to be brothers with him anymore?"

Sam doesn't have the chance to explain before Dean walks out of the house and slams the door close. It shakes the house and has the taller man shaking himself.

"Thanks a _lot_, Kevin the friendly ghost," Sam says bitterly glaring at the prophet's apparition. "Things _were_ going well between us."

"You know that's a lie right?" Kevin says. "Dean's not Dean if he doesn't have his memories."

"That doesn't mean you can tell him the worst ones!" Sam argues frustrated and sighs. "Believe it or not but Dean still is Dean…just more honest, open, less of a player, and doesn't remember a single thing about me."

"How's that going by the way?"

Sam doesn't say anything and just looks out the stained window of the house. His brother is standing on the driver's side with shoulders hunched as his elbows rested over the Impala's roof.

He feels a cold hand patting his back as Kevin says sympathetically. "Sorry to burst whatever bubble you made, Sam, but like I've said before: get over it."

00000000000

Since leaving Kevin Tran and his mother, Sam has been riding with Dean with barely a word between them. The older man refuses to talk and with their engines roaring and music blasting from the car stereo, nothing much could be said anyways.

Unintentionally, they find a few jobs and for the next two days spent simultaneously researching and hunting, Sam suffers Dean's brutal indifference to their blood. The older man introduces them as work partners as a cover up and even on their casual outings, Sam is referred to as just an associate or an acquaintance. When they dine out, Dean keeps his legs from touching Sam's and even flirts with their pretty waitress. When they sleep in motels, it's in separate beds where Sam is the first to sleep and the last to wake. They don't share the bathroom and Dean doesn't share any new memories he might have had.

Sam watches miserably as his brother spirals back down to his previous state. The older man's eyes are hard whenever they look at Sam, guarded, and suspicious. When they work a case, Dean is professional and curt. When they hunt, Dean is ruthless and to the point. Sam didn't want to admit it before but it is obvious that the old Dean was the way he was because of Sam. It's clear now because Sam has restored his brother's old habits.

Flirting with other women Sam could withstand, because that was harmless (as long as Dean didn't sleep with them at least), and hunting without mercy he can understand because it gets the job done, but when Dean tells Sam that he's going to the bar, that is where Sam draws the line.

"NO, Dean," the taller man says standing from his chair in their library. Their back in their bunker, looking for another case, but it seems like Dean has other plans. "I know you're angry, but can't we just talk it out?"

"What's there to talk about?" Dean asks pulling on his jacket. "I let Kevin die, and who knows how many others. You lied that we weren't close because you didn't want to be brothers and I'm not sure if the past week has been a lie either."

"It wasn't your fault Kevin died and I only lied because I thought it was best for the both of us—"

"And if all my memories came back, what then Sam? We would be back to square one plus a step back."

"…I just didn't want to hurt you, okay, Dean? You may not remember anything but I only want to not be brothers when we worked because somehow something always seems to go wrong and we do something stupid—"

"So we should just stop," Dean says.

Sam's heart thumps painfully in his chest. It was Dean who had said he still wanted to work with Sam so they could share the pain, but it was Sam who had latched on at the chance to be with his brother again…at the cost of not being brothers.

Now Dean doesn't even want to try? Dean who fights with teeth and nails to make things work? His brother just wants to give them up? Give Sam up?

The taller man recalls how Dean left him when he was going dark side, remembers how Dean dropped his amulet into the trash can years ago, and every time he thinks it he repeats in his head _never again, Sam—never let something like that happen again_. But it has and _is_ happening.

"You don't mean that, Dean."

The older man stands at the top of the stairs and stares down at Sam before looking away. "I'll be back," he says instead. He opens the door, steps out, and Sam doesn't stop him.

Three hours later, worry and panic suppressed for that duration, ebb away when Sam hears the bunker door opening. He leaves his laptop on the table (he couldn't research anyways) and strides swiftly to the bottom of the staircase, expecting his brother to be tipsy and reeking of booze or perfume or both.

To Sam's surprise, Dean is walking straight and descending the stairs without the influence of alcohol. He meets Sam at the second last step and the taller man has to look up and swallow before asking, "Where'd you go?" It kind of feels like he's interrogating a partner suspected of cheating.

"Walking," came Dean's short reply.

"For three hours?"

Dean shrugs. "Met a woman who offered me a drink. Didn't take it. She was a nice lady though."

"…Why?"

His brother gives him an unreadable look then. Absent of anger or anything extreme at all, Dean answers with another shrug. "Because you don't like it when I drink and I know you don't like it even more when I flirt, but mostly it's because she was like eighty years old."

Sam corrects the man, after he pulls his jaws close. "Dean, I don't like it when you drink _too _much or when you sleep with _too_ many women."

Dean steps down from the stairs until he's eye-leveled with Sam. "Really? Because every time I pick up _one_ bottle of beer, you frown at me Sam. I flirted with _one_ waitress and it looked like you were gonna blow up on me."

Sam isn't too sure what his brother is really trying to insinuate but it makes his stomach tumble with unease. He says instead, "I just thought we could better spend our time talking instead of avoiding the issue."

Dean stares warily at his younger brother, looks at his face up and down, and steps away. "…Good night, Sam."

_It's Sammy_, the taller man thinks tiredly. He turns and watches Dean disappear into the hallway. Slumping down onto the last stair step, he runs his hands through his hair and sighs heavily. "It's Sammy," he says again, trying to convince himself.

000000000000

_Right NOW_

Heart rattling his ribcage, Sam rushes towards the garage; boots pound against the concrete floors and echo as he runs down the narrow hallway. The keys to the Impala are gone so the man knows that he's going to need another ride to find Dean. He will not sit around and wait because the last time Sam felt this shaken up about Dean gone missing was when Jeffrey had kidnapped him to complete a demon summoning ritual. The time before that was when Gordan, the vampire hunter, took the older Winchester as bait. But, no, the reason that has Sam anxious beyond relief is the fact that Dean willingly _left_ him without a word or say-so—that it's the fact that nothing supernatural is going on and it's really Sam that has driven his own brother out that makes him panic. Last night was not unlike any other argument they've had but Dean never left for good.

So, when Sam slams open the iron door to the garage and light floods his vision, he's momentarily surprised that darkness didn't greet him. There's classic rock blasting from an ancient radio speaker somewhere, static crackling in the air, and the sounds of metal against metal reverberating in the background. He's breathing hard and when Sam turns his attention to the black Chevy in the middle of the garafe, all jacked up with a familiar body beneath it, Sam feels three thuds in his chest before he yells, "DEAN!" He's across the floor in seconds, barely giving his older brother enough time to roll his way out from under the car.

He doesn't know how but somewhere between point A and B, Sam must've knocked down the radio because he hears a sharp clatter, then a severe lack of noise that's almost jarring. He doesn't care.

"Sam, what the hell— " Dean begins standing up with a frown and a downturn of lips. His shirt is dirty, stained with grease and sweat, and his jeans are in no better condition. Whatever Dean has to say would be for another day because at that instant, Sam throws his arms around Dean's neck and shoulder, his momentum crushing Dean against the Impala and visibly shaking it. "Whoa, hold up there Sam! You tryin' to hurt Baby over here?" Dean gasps out besides the younger man's ear. He roughly pats Sam's middle back, trying to get him off.

There are a thousand things Sam wants to say all at once, most of them angry questions about why Dean didn't pick up his phone and why didn't he leave a message or some kind of note—he even considers apologizing about lying but the few words that come out startles the young man himself. "_Sammy_," he mutters roughly against the side of Dean's neck, unable to control himself. "_Please_…just call me Sammy again, Dean." And all the things that Sam wanted to say die out right then because he can't bear hearing the nicknames Dean had given to other people, things, and just everything else besides Sam himself. He never thought it could hurt, wanting his brother back so much when he's literally right there in front of him. Now he understands how Dean had felt when Sam was soulless and why Dean wanted Sam's soul back, even at the cost of a mental breakdown.

Sam wants Dean back, even if that meant back to their crumbling brotherhood.

"…I dunno what's gotten into you," Dean says quietly, his voice a soothing remedy to the taller man's ears. Arms tighten around Sam's middle back as the older man continues, "but if it's about the last few days, don't worry. I'm getting out of your hair."

The instant relief Sam had felt at hearing the endearing name he hates/loves is overridden by the sudden fear that Dean was actually planning to leave. It is an irrational fear, but fear nonetheless that has Sam tightening his hold on Dean. Their bodies press closer against the car as Sam blurts out, "NO, stay in it, Dean. I-I'll fix whatever's wrong with us, alright? Just, please—I can't do that if you're gone." He hates how he sounds so desperate; so uncertain.

"…I dunno, Sam," Dean sighs.

"Sammy."

"—_Sammy_," Dean amends with a small stifled laugh. "You really are the little brother." He pulls the taller man away, just enough so they could see his face. Next thing Sam knows, Dean's fingers push the bangs from his eyes and kisses him lightly on the forehead. It's something Sam hasn't received from his brother since they were kids.

The small gesture unexpectedly calms him, among other things, then Sam finally lets go of his brother feeling just a tidbit embarrassed. "So, uh…we're good?"

"Not yet." Dean calmly pushes himself away from the car and wipes his hand with a rag. "Our fridge is running low on food so after I come back, you have a lot of explaining to do."

_I would've explained everything to you if you would just give me the chance_, but Sam says instead, "I'm coming with you."

And Sam does.

At the convenience store they go to, the cashier looks at them and their items (pepperoni sticks, slice of pie, shaving cream, a pack of beer), raises his brows, then asks, "Want condoms with that?"

Sam will never understand what other people see in him and Dean, but he half thinks it's possible, with their whole fan base on Chuck's _Supernatural _series and Becky Rosen's fanfictions—especially when Sam's heart skipped a beat as Dean kissed him.

Dean glares at their cashier, a late-twenties man with a stubble, dark hair, and hard eyes. "Is there a problem with two men picking up a few things together? We're just—"

"— brothers," Sam states annoyed and slams down a few bills on to the counter. If he hears one more "friend" or "acquaintances" coming from Dean's mouth to refer to him ever again, he was going to sock the man.


	6. Meet the Connelly Brothers

A/N: Just so everyone knows where this is in comparison to the current episodes, this is all days away from meeting addict Crowley. By the way, there is only ONE chapter left to go :)

Chapter 6: Meet the Connelly Brothers

_There's too many of them_, Sam realizes when he beheads his fifth vampire that night. Three more appear from around the abandoned warehouse and the taller man scours the corpse filled lot for his brother. Dean is holding off on his own better than Sam expects but he tries rushing to the man in fear of their situation turning to the worst.

After returning from the convenience store a few days ago, Sam made good on his promise to tell Dean everything. He told the older man about how Death had paid Sam a visit after the trials and how Sam had been ready to go—to end their suffering and other's for good. He told him how he tricked Sam so an angel could possess him and how it all went downhill from there. Sam knew Dean tried to understand what was wrong with it all because w_hy _was it wrong to bring family back? And when the taller man tried to explain that _that _was the reason why their life was always spiraling down, Sam realizes how _selfish_ he sounded to say it all again.

When Dean had asked Sam (for the _second_ time) if their situation was reversed, wouldn't he do the same? Unlike the first time when Sam answered his brother, the younger man didn't know what to say then. He was so sure of himself before, but after Dean lost his memories?

Words were easier to say than to carry out.

Since casting Gadreel out of his body, Sam could count the times his heart reeled every time he thought Dean was doomed during a case. It's the same response he had when Dean was attacked by a werewolf at 10, when Dean nearly died from electrocution at 26, and when Dean disappeared into Purgatory in his thirties.

Even though Sam didn't know how to answer, he still wanted Dean there and to his great relief Dean didn't say anymore. They just…continued. There is still tension between them, but somehow the coffee in the mornings have been brewing just right (and Dean shares his daily recollections) while evenings have been spent watching the _Game of Thrones_ with a pack of beer on Sam's bed with their shoulders pressed close. They've also spent an extensive time researching productively and cohesively in a way that they haven't before.

Yet, Sam has no idea how he has overlooked a vital part of their current case.

This is their second hunt since their patch up and Sam has underestimated the vampire nest they have tracked down. It's a dangerous mistake and Sam should have known better than to immediately storm the vampires' hideout before scouting it out first. He should've prepared his brother for this.

Now, Sam could lose Dean at any moment if they don't pull out.

Just when he's five steps from his brother, a female vampire with dark hair in a pony tail lunges between them and stops him in his tracks. The other two vampires surround Dean as the older man finishes up on his latest victim.

Sam knows that they're outnumbered as he attempts to lop off the female vampire's head. She's quick though and easily dodges. Then she snarls at him with her second set of teeth and pounces on him, knocking him off balance. Fatigue has already crawled into the taller man's limbs because killing vampires is no easy feat, but he manages to force the vampire off and slice off her head just in time to see Dean do the same with their enemies.

"We need to get out of here, Sam!" the older man yells, stepping over a body. "There's too many of them!"

They both take off at a sprint away from the warehouse and towards the Impala that's parked stealthily under the shadow of a great oak. He catches Dean by the elbow just as the older man stumbles and pulls him up. Looking over his shoulder, Sam sees that there are about five vampires after them. If he had brought the proper weapons and ambushed them more efficiently, he wouldn't be in fear for Dean's and his life right now.

To his dread, there are three other vampires waiting at their car as well. Halting, Sam grips Dean's elbow hard and gives him a forlorn look as the blood suckers encircle them. _This is it,_ he thinks breathing heavily. Seeing his brother's face, his life seems to flicker before Sam's eyes like an old film reel with each frame containing his brother in different years. Young freckled Dean with a proud missing tooth. Teenage Dean with stunning eyes and a smart aleck mouth. Adult Dean with a worn leather jacket and a cocky smile. Now-Dean without a memory of Sam but still sticking to him like the true brother he is.

"Sam?" Dean says alarmed, watching both their backs. "What're we going to do—we're surrounded—"

They've been together since the beginning, forged together by tragedy and mayhem, and Sam has a feeling that they would still be together in the end. No one else stuck around Sam that long but here is a friend and brother for life—a companion for life.

Sam's chest swells and is simultaneously bulldozed flat when he realizes how much he _really _cares about the man beside him.

He catches Dean's determined eyes and whispers, "_I'm sorry_." He feels like he's back in the abandoned church again with his brother. He feels all he had felt before about being the inadequate sibling—so inadequate that Dean found solace in different creatures. Like the angel Castiel, the vampire Benny, and even demon Crowley. When Dean looks at him with confusion, Sam apologizes again and swallows.

The older man stares at Sam in disbelief. "For _what_?"

"For dragging you into this. For not being the family you want—for not being the little brother you _deserve_," Sam answers rushed. He brings Dean closer to him still, keeping an eye on the jeering vampires as he tries to give his brother his last words. "I—"

Dean's eyes narrow as he grasps Sam tightly by the collar and shakes him once. He says with a menacing tone, "Save your _sorry_ death speech for another day, Sam, because you and I are getting out of here _alive_."

As if fate decided that she just isn't finished with them, a black truck roars across the lot with its high beams blinding everyone in sight. Sam watches in shock as the mysterious vehicle swerves smoothly around into the entire circle of vampires. It knocks one bloodsucker down after another, dust trailing in its wake, until it stops in front of Sam and Dean.

"What the hell," Dean starts breathlessly, too stunned to move.

Angry calls resounded around them as the fog of dirt settles and two tall figures emerge from the truck at the same time. They are giants, even to Sam but being nearly blinded by headlights gives him no further details.

_Friend or foe? _Sam thinks, hand tightening on his machete; he hopes they're the first option.

Then the strangers come out of the darkness and into the light and Sam sees them for who they really are. They actually are tall, built like Sam and Dean, and intimidating. They wear loose dark coats (one leather, the other denim), and dark jeans, with each a machete and some chain hanging by their hips. Before any words can be exchanged, they cock their shotguns pointing in opposite directions and fire off round after round with frightening control and accuracy.

Sam hears screaming and watches as the vampires go down in pairs. Of course, they aren't dead though and by the way they still move sluggishly and slow, Sam knows that they have Dead Man's blood in their veins. He looks to Dean and a silent agreement of what action to take crosses their eyes and they nod before they sprint off towards the fallen creatures.

Heads are rolling within seconds and Sam no longer hears any shots piercing the air. He turns to look at what's happening and sees the two men dropping their guns in favour of pulling out their machetes. They take down the last three swifter than Sam could've taken down one. He is too busy marvelling at their synchronization to realize that the taller of the two has said something to him.

"I said cheers for doing half the job," the stranger repeats. He wipes his blade clean on one of the corpses before looking at Sam. He has green eyes, short dark-brown hair, a firm jaw, and a clean shaven face. He stands up and meets Sam's eyes. "I didn' think I'd see other hunters around here, but looks like ya two got here first."

"And unprepared at that," the other giant one says walking up to the taller man. "If we didn' come, ya lads be dead." Sam notes that this shorter stranger is built similar to Dean with broad shoulders, an angular face, and long legs. His facial features are similar to the taller stranger's though. They share the same green eyes, high cheekbones, age worn skin, broad brows, and the same thin lips. The only difference is that the shorter man has a crooked nose, a stubble, and cropped hair.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for that." Sam moves to Dean and makes sure he's alright before turning to the other pair. "I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean—"

The taller one startles Sam. "Hold on—Sam and Dean as in Sam & Dean _Winchesters_? The bastards who killed Lilith and jumpstarted the whole Apocalypse?"

Dean looks sharply at Sam and mouths _the Apocalypse?!___in silence.

"…Yeah, that's us," Sam answers carefully. His body stiffens as he does so because not many hunters were happy when they found out about that. As a precaution, he shifts himself just a little in front of Dean and eyes the two men warily. They certainly are intimidating with their heights and weapons, but Sam has never been one to back down when it comes to his brother. "Look, I appreciate your help—I really do, but we're not looking for trouble here—"

"Are ya kiddin' me?" the taller man says throwing his arms around Sam tightly. "I fuckin' love ya Winchesters!"

Stunned, Sam doesn't know what to do. No one has ever loved him for starting the Apocalypse before. In fact, he's pretty sure people _hate _him enough to kill him. "Uh…have we met?" he asks confused.

The shorter stranger (but still taller than Sam) sighs and pats the other man on the shoulders. "C'mere, Christopher Robin," he says. "Ya're a mad piece of cow on their patties."

"…Who are you guys?" Dean asks as the taller man releases Sam.

"Right, I'm Neil Connelly and this one here is me little brother, Chris," the shorter man answers shaking Dean's hand.

Chris, the tallest one, enthusiastically grabs Sam's and shakes it with a broad smile. "It's nice to finally meet ya Winchesters. Neil'd be dead now if it hadn' been for ya two."

Even after their hands part, Sam has no idea what is going on. "And how exactly did bringing the _Apocalypse_ help him?"

"Em, it wasn't the Apocalypse perse," Neil mutters rubbing the back of his neck. "I was in me last year with a crossroads demon deal and Lilith was the contract holder. So, when you lads offed her, I was off the hook."

"Of course, livin' through the Apocalypse was no frolic in the woods, but it was definitely bearable with me brother still around," says Chris. "And I've got ya Winchesters to thank for that."

Sam honestly doesn't know how to respond. "Well...I guess we're even now. You did just save the both of us."

The Connelly brothers have other plans though and the next thing Sam knows, they're out camping in the woods with a fire between all of them. Since Neil had seen Dean's ride, the two have been getting along famously; Sam thanks the stranger for that because it puts him out of Dean's radar for the time being. He doesn't want to relay what happened during the Apocalypse again. It wasn't exactly the time of his life.

While the older brothers leaned against Neil's truck talking, drinking, and laughing, Sam sat two feet away from beside Chris with their own beers. He learns that they are from Massachusetts, usually working on the east coast, and have come inland because they were tracking the nest of vampires from earlier. Throughout their interaction, he notices how both Chris and Neil are nearly armed to the teeth. They wore iron and silver rings on their fingers, iron salted chains on their waists, knives in their jackets and boots, and when asked, Sam discovers that they also have two anti-possession tattoos somewhere on their bodies and an exorcism inscription on one of their forearms.

Sam is a little in awed by these brothers and thinks that maybe he should adopt some of their practices. After all, they were prepared for almost any supernatural creature.

With Chris, conversation comes easy to Sam. Fifteen minutes in, he realizes that it's because they are more alike than he would have ever thought. The Connelly were a family of hunters and after the death of their mother by a demon called Belial, Neil, Chris, and their father went on a hunt for it. After a few years, they found it, took revenge, and it cost them their father's life.

It's not just their background that makes Sam connect with Chris; it's the simple fact that they have an over-protective older brother that makes the younger man open up to him. 

"So I'm assuming Neil's deal with the crossroads demon had something to do with you?" Sam asks, swishing his beer in its can.

Chris nods, elbows resting on his knees as he hunches closer to the fire. "I died with our father," he answers quietly and doesn't say anything more because it's obvious what happened after that. A person only has one soul and seeing Chris now just goes to show exactly who Neil traded his life for.

"Well…at least one good thing came from me killing Lilth," Sam murmurs. He doesn't want to talk about the subject anymore because every time he glances up when he hears Dean's laughter, he remembers the one year the man had left. They were good, they were bad, and they were desperate; it made Sam long for his brother even more. He doesn't even want to think about what he did after Dean was dragged down to Hell.

"So, what about yar brother there? He seems off—not quite the man rumours paint him to be," Chris asks.

"Car accident. Lost his memories last week," Sam answers glancing at the older man (at least he thinks Chris is older). "He's slowly recalling a few details and he remembers people when he sees them, but not me."

"…Ya want to keep it that way?"

It's an unusual question and Sam quirks his brow but he responds with a negative. "Sounds like I have an option. You know something?" he asks.

The dark-haired man looks at Sam and grins.

00000000000

"Soo, what'd you guuys talk. About….?" Dean asks almost in a slur. He slumps heavily in to Sam's body as the taller man pulls his arm over his shoulder.

Sighing, Sam hauls his brother up and walks him to their car. "You only had, like what? A few cans of beer?" Sam asks. "_Why_ are you so drunk?"

Dean laughs lightly. "Neil…had some of the gooood stuff…can't miss that.."

Despite himself, Sam chuckles. He hasn't seen his brother as a happy drunk in far too long; it's definitely better than angry and miserable drunk Dean.

The fire has been put out leaving nothing but a trail of smoke heading skyward. Moonlight from a cloudless sky guides Sam's feet through the shrubbery and uneven ground. After reaching the Impala a few feet away, Sam can still smell burnt wood. Then he pulls open the back door and struggles to put Dean in.

"Hey, you dudn't..answer me, Sammy," the older man mumbles half-way through the door. "Whad'you guys talk about, huh?"

Chris and Sam talked about a lot of things. They talked about how Dean could get his memories back. They talked about how sometimes big brothers were dicks. They talked about how being on the road all the time sucked. They talked about loved ones left and lost, and they talked about how they could never really live a normal life.

It didn't surprise Sam when he learned that Chris was the same age as Dean, but what did surprise him was that Neil was four years older than Chris. Considering their past, how much more alike can they be to him and Dean? While they spoke, Sam noticed the way Chris would often shift his gaze towards the scruffiest looking man there. It wasn't just for the sake of looking at something. They were intense stares every time they talked about brothers or Neil, and by the time two hours slipped by and Neil stumbled towards them, Sam saw the stares for what they really were.

He watched as Chris stood up and met Neil half-way; watched as the man steadied his brother and scolded him for drinking too much, and watched as Neil just ignored Chris and kissed him fully on the mouth before resting himself lazily on his younger brother's shoulders spouting gibberish.

Sam didn't say anything, partially due to shock and partially due to the fact that for some reason he just _understood_, but it was the unfazed look that Chris gave him as he shouldered his brother and wrapped an arm around the older man's waist that kept Sam quiet. Chris gave the younger man a weary smile. "He was given five years for the deal. Best and worst years of me life," he murmured, "and I'm glad ya killed the bitch so we can keep living the best part. Now…don't ya have your own brother to take care of?"

Sam leans over Dean who's lying on his back and mumbling a bunch of mumbo jumbo. The taller man sighs as he half lifts and drags his brother further to the opposite door. "Even if I tell you, you're not going to remember tomorrow."

Dean grabs Sam's jacket and tugs feebly at it. "C'mon, Sammy_…_"

Since the incidence in the bunker garage, every time the older man would say that name, it made Sam's stomach tumble and his fingers tingle. Right now, it's all those things as his heart sings too. "…We can get your memories back, Dean," he murmurs, smoothing his hand over his brother's scalp. "Do you really want that?"

With the coordination of a clumsy drunk, Dean lightly slaps both his hands on Sam's face, smooshing the taller man's cheeks together, and stares at him the best he could without dozing off. "..Want to rememember you," he mumbles and Sam has to stifle a smile when he hears the stumble in words. "Tired…of aaall…the holes where _you _should be," he continues and pulls the taller man on top of him with a heavy sigh. "Hate it," he says and repeats it with greater enthusiasm and a huff, "I _hate _it!"

Sam lets Dean get his way partly because he finds it amusing and partly because he doesn't mind the close contact. He rests his head over his brother's shoulder, hears and feels the man breathe, and finds comfort in it all. It's been a long time since Sam lay like this in the back of the Impala. He thinks maybe the last time was when he was thirteen and their father couldn't spare the money for a motel. It was cold then and Dean blanketed him like a furnace.

It isn't cold now, but Sam still presses closer to his brother, throwing an arm over the man's shoulder to cradle his head as Dean's hands rested high on Sam's broad back. "You won't like what you'll remember," the taller man murmurs. He shifts his leg so one knee is between his brother's and sighs.

"I'll…decide that..for myself…Sammy," Dean says sleepily.

The taller man blinks sluggishly at his brother's profile and murmurs in a low quiet voice, "Say that again."

"…Say wha? …_Sammy_?" Dean asks chuckling deep so that the taller man could feel it reverberating in his chest.

Sam shifts closer until his forehead touches his brother's temple, then he breathes out, "Yeah."

Sam Winchester, one of America's greatest hunters, doesn't know how he devolved back into a child wanting all of his brother's attention because he's bathing in it now. It's so luke warm that it makes his head daze, his muscles relax, and his heart swell. He wants to lay in it forever.

"Saaammy," Dean says almost sing-song and laughs quietly amused.

"…Again."

The older man repeats the name again and again, changing the tone just a little bit as if teasing. In a minute they become whispers in the dark, fading out as Sam is lulled to sleep by his brother's voice.

00000000000

Dawn filters out through tree limbs while white wisps rise into the air. Sam wipes his face over with his hands and exhales deeply. He sits alone by the fire he made that morning feeling refreshed despite only six hours of sleep. The camp is quiet save for wood crackling and birds chirping. When Sam exhales again, his breath is white; for a moment, he wants to return to where he slept last night where the cold was kept at bay and only everlasting warmth surrounded him.

But he can't, because Sam woke up that morning with his chin over Dean's head, his chest to Dean's back, his arms around Dean's middle, and his legs tucked up with Dean's. It's the position he wanted to sleep in at Jody's place except any brotherly affection he felt back then were absent this morning. He thinks it's mostly due to the fact that his hard-on was pressed into Dean's lower back, but Sam knew that when he woke up, he was feeling more than just aroused and a little afflicted.

He felt hopelessly _right_. Having a warm body, and not just _anybody's_ but_ Dean's_ body, pressed to his after a night from a grueling hunt—Sam didn't think it possible to have such a privilege in his supernatural filled world. It was why he always sought out the normal and a woman here and there to sleep with. He didn't think he could hunt and have someone he loved too. There was always some dilemma where he had to choose: school or family? Normal or hunt? Love or Dean?

There Sam was though, in the back of the Impala, being comforted by his brother's body when he thought, _why can't I have both?_ He always chose Dean in the end anyways.

"Ya're up early this morning."

Sam turns his head and sees Neil plop himself heavily on to the log beside him. The younger man didn't even hear the hunter approach him. "Yeah, just couldn't stay asleep anymore. How're you feeling?" Sam asks, rubbing his hands and warming it by the flames.

"Grand," the older man mutters and massages his forehead with a frown. "Did I…do anything _weird_ last night?"

"Other than kiss your brother?" Sam shrugs nonchalantly. "No."

"…Em…about that, I was drunk—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, Neil. I understand." And Sam does. He knows that they aren't like any regular siblings they've met. Despite Renee growing up with Ewan, she only saw him as a brother while she fell in love with her actual long lost brother. Again: not normal. Chris and Neil? They grew up together, much like Sam and Dean, but in their not normal supernatural world, they got by together. "As long as you're happy, and that's a hard thing to come by in our line of work, I'm no judge," Sam says. With honest curiosity, he even asks, "Besides, what's with the name _Christopher Robin_? That's the curious part." Sam has heard it a couple times and he's pretty sure that Chris wasn't named after a fictional character when he was born.

After staring at Sam for a good few seconds, Neil half-laughs and rubs his palms over his knees. The only thing he has to say is that Chris liked to wear short shorts and ran in the woods a lot as a kid; Neil has teased him ever since because of course that's what big brothers do. Sam knows all too well that big brothers are also fond of nicknames because usually no one else calls them that; faintly, he wonders how Dean came to call him "Sammy." Then Neil turns away and they sit in companionable silence.

By the time Dean and Chris are up, one with a hangover and one sleep deprived, the sun has already rose high above the horizon. After brief morning chatters and exchanging of contact info, they part in amicable terms in opposite directions. The Connellys headed back east; with Sam behind the wheel, the Winchesters drive towards Kansas.

"Just because I was a little drunk last night doesn't mean I forgot what you said," Dean mutters from the passenger side. His head rests on the jacket that Sam has given him, eyebrows scrunched as he closes his eyes in what Sam figures is because of a major headache. "I'm remembering you whether you like it or not. When I wake up, I expect us to be…wherever we're supposed to be do that."

Sam doesn't argue and takes the exit that would bring him to the next state over. With the windows rolled down, he drives until the sun shines directly above them. Early noon, he stops for lunch at a small diner. He turns to Dean, asks him what he wants, and receives no reply. So, the taller man leaves and comes back in ten minutes with two take out boxes in his hands. He doesn't think twice before leaning into the passenger side window and kissing Dean lightly at the corner of his mouth. Then Sam is in the Impala again, his heart purring as loud as the car, before he guides them back on to the highway.


End file.
